


Birthday Girl

by elementalv



Series: The Key's Watcher [2]
Category: Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-07-16
Updated: 2003-07-15
Packaged: 2017-10-03 07:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elementalv/pseuds/elementalv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new universe, a new city, a new store. Dawn's turning 18 at last.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Journal of Rupert Giles_

_May 20, 2003_

_Dawn and I woke each other up this morning with twin screams that seemed to echo through the apartment forever. When we met each other in the hall, we were both crying. It was an hour before either of us was calm enough to talk about what we’d dreamt of. When it was clear that we’d both seen the obliteration of Sunnydale, I made Dawn go off into the kitchen with several sheets of paper to write out a narrative of her dream. I did the same as I sat at the desk in the living room. It was the only way I could be sure we wouldn’t contaminate each other’s memory — knowledge — of the events._

_Having read through both accounts, I’m glad I took the precaution, simply for the assurance it provided that they were indeed prophetic dreams. In them, Ethan Rayne and Spike seemed to play a key role in Sunnydale’s destruction. It was difficult to be certain what was happening without knowing what was being said, but it was clear that Buffy and the others seemed to be working with the two of them as they fought a massive battle in what could only be described as the maw of the Hellmouth. _

_Though the battle was horrifying enough, what awakened us both was seeing Buffy die. It’s clear now that she survived the fight with Glory, and that she’d faced an even more horrendous opponent some two years later. Dawn’s been inconsolable, and frankly, so have I. I kept her home from school and closed the store for the day, and then I called Michelle to cancel our date for this evening. Dawn and I need a period of mourning, and it will be all the more difficult, since we can’t tell anyone the reason for it._

*****

September 20, 2004

I had the strangest dream about Buffy this morning. In it, she was dressed all in white and had the standard Hollywood ghostly glow. As soon as she saw me, she started berating me, because it had taken her so long to find me and Dawn. When I pointed out that we hadn’t moved in over two years, she reacted as she usually did — she ignored the logic of my argument. As if that weren’t bad enough, she tried to tell me that I should have known she’d be looking for me, and why hadn’t I put up a sign? I pointed out that the sign over the shop door should have been enough of a clue for her — how many worlds could have a bookstore named Watcher’s Nook? She refused to be mollified, and I finally gave up.

When I awoke, I was still chuckling over the argument in my dream. It had been so real, so true to Buffy’s twisted thinking. I told Dawn about it over breakfast, and she looked a bit outraged on my behalf. “That is _so_ typical of her. She won’t admit it when she needs help, so she blames everyone else because of it. What do you want to bet that she didn’t follow the directions she was given?”

I was happy to see that Dawn was willing to joke about it. She’d taken Buffy’s death hard, and once she finished with school for the year, she’d spent the summer wandering through the store and our apartment like a ghost. I got so desperate to see some life in her that I actually invited Max over for dinner one night. It seemed to do the trick, and that’s the only reason I haven’t banished Max from our life completely. With any luck, she’ll be caught and sent to jail one of these days. She isn’t quite as bad as Faith was, but that’s only because she doesn’t have the gifts of the Slayer to pervert.

“No bet,” I answered with a grin. “I remember how Buffy was at following directions. I doubt there’s been any improvement in the afterlife.”

“Coward. Here I am, trying to save up for a new car, and you won’t even place a sucker bet. I’m beginning to think you don’t want me to have my freedom and independence,” she said, glowering as she took a sip of her orange juice.

“You’ve found me out. I want you staying here with me and dying a virgin at the age of one hundred,” I said, ducking out of the way of the napkin she balled up and threw at me.

“Anyway, you have to admit I’m a better driver than she was.”

I looked at her in disbelief and said, “A blind goat herder from the thirteenth century would be a better driver than Buffy. You’ll have to come up with a better argument than that.” The truth was I’d already bought her a car — a bright yellow Beetle convertible. It would be delivered on Saturday morning, shortly after her birthday breakfast. I’d been concerned about her taking public transportation to her classes, and with her potentially needing to study late at the library, I didn’t want her to have to rely on buses or taxis to get home.

She finished her orange juice and said, “That’s mean. So Nathaniel starts today, right?”

“Yes. I told him to be here at ten o’clock. He needs to fill out paperwork, and then I can show him around a bit,” I answered, snatching the last piece of bacon before she could get it. I wasn’t sure why we were both so territorial over fat-laden meat, but we were. Dawn and I had been known to have epic battles over the last piece of pepperoni pizza, and we didn’t dare let beef jerky in our home. I thought I heard her snarl at me after losing the last of the bacon, but I hoped I was wrong. She’d promised not to do that anymore.

“Have you heard back from the police?” The question was asked quietly, and it was the first she’d spoken of Abigail since I returned home last Wednesday morning. I hadn’t pushed the issue, because I didn’t particularly care to discuss it myself. For now, the police had been able to keep my name out of it by invoking victim’s privacy rights, but there was no telling what Abigail or her lawyer might do if they thought it might help her case.

“No. Not since Detective Zerbrowski brought Ms. Pearce around to chat with me,” I answered. Tamara Pearce was the attorney who would be prosecuting the case. She wanted to meet me to tell me that Abigail had waived her right to a trial by jury. It made sense. She had a slightly better chance in front of a judge than she did before a jury of her peers. The local papers and TV news had been going over the case with the intent to convict before a trial even started. I wasn’t sure how they’d gotten hold of certain of the passages in Abigail’s diary, but I had my suspicions. As for me, as long as I wasn’t mentioned by name, I ignored the articles and broadcasts.

I wasn’t so naive as to believe my identity would remain hidden. Poorly-paid public servants could be bribed all too easily, and much of my privacy was dependent on the goodwill and decency of editors and news directors. Given the possibility that I’d been sexually assaulted, there was a better than average chance I wouldn’t be named, but that didn’t necessarily hold true for the tabloids. As a result, Dawn and I had spent the last several days talking with our close friends and associates about the issue, and expressed our desire not to see anyone cooperating with the press by providing interviews once my name came out.

It was embarrassing, though, to have left such a gaping loophole in my wards. The only reason Abigail’s spells had worked was that as far as she was concerned, she had no intent to harm me. She was free to enter and free to give me food tainted with her magic, because she was merely helping me to discover my “true” feelings for her. Since Wednesday, I’d been revising the wards to close that particular hole, and I’d had Dawn going through them on her own, so as to be certain there were no other ways in. Between the two of us, we found a few other problem areas, but when we were finished, the building, from ground to roof, was as secure as it could possibly be.

I hadn’t yet removed Abigail’s spells over me, as I would be meeting with a state-approved coven later this week. We would determine the shape and nature of her castings, and the coven would help dismantle them, as I didn’t feel I could do it on my own. The coven would also provide the equivalent of forensic testimony, once the case reached trial. According to last night’s news coverage, that would be within two weeks, no later. I sighed at the thought of what might happen if CNN or Fox picked up the story. There would no doubt be scads of legal and magic experts eager to step forward and offer their own opinion of what Abigail had done. I shuddered to think what they might call the story. I still recalled the tacky graphics and absurd headlines they used in my world while reporting the indiscretions of the President of the United States.

Dawn interrupted the downward spiral of my thoughts by asking, “Do you think Anita will be by today?”

“I doubt very much that _Ms. Blake_ will be here. Mr. Callahan assured me that he would do everything possible to keep her out of what little hair I have left,” I said, making a grumpy reference to my ever-receding hairline. I didn’t remember my grandfather losing his hair quite this early, but it was forty years and one universe ago that I’d last seen him alive. My memory of his appearance wasn’t all that reliable.

“Please. Like you don’t have half the women coming into the store just so they can sigh and hope you’ll notice them one of these days,” she said, effectively dismissing my self-pity. “Anyway, if _Ms. Blake_ comes in, give her this, will you? Or send it home with Nathaniel.”

She handed me a card in a hot pink envelope with Ms. Blake’s name on the outside. I held it up and said, “I know it’s none of my business, but what is this?”

“A thank-you card for saving you. I’ve got one for Nathaniel, too, but I left it in my room. I’ll give it to you before I leave,” she said matter-of-factly.

I frowned, realizing that I owed both of them my thanks as well. I wasn’t sure how well it would be accepted, considering what happened the last time, but I decided to invite them both over for dinner at some point this week or next. It wouldn’t be Thursday because of Dawn’s dance class. Friday and Saturday were likewise out. Dawn had a date with Brian Moran, her newest beau, on Friday night, and I had no intention of dining with Ms. Blake without at least two buffers. Saturday was out, because Dawn and I had a dinner date for her birthday. Saturday’s dinner would be early, as she planned to go out with friends later on. I suspected they would be going to Danse Macabre or Circus of the Damned, but I didn’t ask. I really didn’t want to know, and I had no intention of policing her activities, as she would be eighteen that day and legally responsible for her own decisions.

“I’m thinking of inviting them over for dinner,” I started.

Dawn interrupted me before I could finish, saying, “Oh yeah, because the last dinner party they came to went so well.”

“It was hardly my fault,” I spluttered.

“Yeah, but it wasn’t hers either, which hasn’t kept you from blaming her,” she said with a moderate scowl.

“Technically, _she_ was the one who was attacked,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, but she was attacked because of _your_ stalker. Face it, Dad, you owe her an apology for blaming her. I gotta finish getting ready,” she said, standing and leaving the kitchen even as I glared at her. I hated it when she was right and I was wrong, because it usually meant I hadn’t thought clearly about a given situation. It was no wonder so many parents wanted to choke their offspring before they moved out of the house.

I cleared away the breakfast things and went to take a shower. When I came out, I found both of Dawn’s cards on the kitchen table, and I picked them up before going downstairs. I didn’t really know what to do about Ms. Blake. She’d frightened me badly when she showed up in my store a week ago, and her subsequent behavior had done nothing to abrogate my initial bad opinion of her. Still, from what Detective Zerbrowski told me, she’d been instrumental both in my rescue and in Abigail’s capture.

Ms. Blake had been the one to stand before the judge and explain how Nathaniel had tracked me to Abigail’s home. She’d further explained that Nathaniel had seen gargoyles, which were extinct. That meant Abigail had used magical constructs in a physical attack against me. She also testified that we had been attacked the night before, and that a gargoyle had attempted to enter my home. Without her expert testimony, it is unlikely a search warrant would have been issued.

With these thoughts and others chasing through my head, I set about getting the store ready to open. It wasn’t a particularly difficult chore, but it did require me to focus on the task at hand, which meant I was finally able to stop thinking about Ms. Blake. By extension, I was also able to stop thinking about Jean-Claude. He’d been in my thoughts far too often since I crept out of his lair like a thief in the night — morning, in this case — last Wednesday. Between the two of them, they’d turned my carefully built life upside down.

I’d wanted none of this attention. Since falling through Glory’s portal, my one goal had been to see Dawn safely to adulthood. Saturday would see the fulfillment of that goal, assuming my sanity survived the intrusion of Ms. Blake and Jean-Claude in my life. I’d been quite happy not to associate with vampires, but now I’d piqued the curiosity of a master vampire — one who had every intention of discovering our secret. It wasn’t fair. Not one little bit. I felt my inner Buffy agree with me and sympathize with my plight.

I finished sweeping the floor and checking that the books and other stock were in place just before my ten o’clock opening time. When I emerged from the back, having put away the broom, I could see Nathaniel standing out on the sidewalk. I opened the door and said, “Good morning! A beautiful day, isn’t it?”

From the other side, the blind side as far as anyone in the store was concerned, I heard Ms. Blake say, “It’s just a peachy day. Can’t you tell how thrilled I am with it?”

I sighed and turned to her. “Ms. Blake. How kind of you to grace my store with your presence again. Unfortunately, at the moment, I have no customers you can scare away. Perhaps if you returned at three, you might have better luck.”

“Nice try,” she said, walking past me and into the store. I glared at the wards for not flaring up and preventing her entry, but there was no getting around the fact that she neither intended nor planned harm against me. It would have made a lesser man bitter, and I was mildly ashamed to discover that I was, in fact, a lesser man. I gestured to Nathaniel to enter, and I left the door unlocked. It was close enough to ten that opening a few minutes early didn’t matter.

“I have some paperwork for you to fill out, Nathaniel, and I’ll need to see your social security card and an official photo ID,” I said, moving past the two of them to go to the research table. It was out of the way of any customers who might come in that early, and I wanted him to be able to fill out the forms in relative peace.

When he was settled in at the table with the various pieces of busywork the government insisted on having for all new employees, I turned to Ms. Blake and said, “I thought we agreed that it would be impractical for you to accompany Nathaniel for his shifts.”

I saw a burst of humor flare in her eyes, which seemed to confirm that she was starting to enjoy our mutual antagonism much the same way I was. I hadn’t had anyone to despise since Spike, and I found I rather missed it. “You’ve changed your warding,” she said.

“How kind of you to stop by and point that out. I’m sure you have to be going now, so —”

“Not so fast,” she said, obviously enjoying my discomfort over her presence. “Aside from dropping Nathaniel off, I came by to hire you.”

“To — I beg your pardon?” My stammer deepened as I wondered if this were an elaborate ploy to get me to respond to Jean-Claude’s increasingly insistent invitations to dinner.

“I want you to ward my home and Jeep the way you’ve warded your place.” She leaned in conspiratorially and added, “I don’t know if you realize this or not, but for some reason, people just don’t like me.” Her self-mockery humanized her in a way I hadn’t thought possible.

“I can’t imagine why,” I said, my stammer receding considerably once I understood her true purpose for being here. I could appreciate her concern, but I wasn’t entirely certain I wanted to play a role in her protection. On a very deep level, I thought the world might be a safer place without her in it. Still, warding her home and car would get me out of inviting her for dinner.

I began the negotiation with this world’s standard Wiccan line, “How much are you willing to pay?” Demanding a set amount for magical services tended to backfire on the provider. It was better to determine what the customer felt the value of the service was. If the practitioner felt the sum was too low, he or she was free to refuse the commission. In any event, there always had to be a payment of some sort. Something for nothing was not simply bad business, it was also bad dharma for those on either side of the contract.

My jaw dropped at the figure she mentioned, and she said, “I’m going on the theory that what you send out comes back to the power of three. I figure if I pay you well enough, your wards should be enough to withstand a demon attack.”


	2. Chapter 2

_Journal of Rupert Giles_

_October 2, 2002_

_I’ve placed an ad in several trade magazines offering my services as a translator of ancient texts. I’m focusing on the Latin and Greek manuscripts, though I could certainly branch out if the opportunity presents itself. I’ve spent a considerable amount of time going through untranslated works, just to ensure that there were no significant differences in the languages between one world and the next. Happily, there were none that I could see. _

_The shop is doing well enough that I really don’t need to develop this sideline, but I want to try and build a savings account to pay for Dawn’s college education. I’m not sure where she’ll go to university, but wherever it is, she’ll have the money she needs. As for Dawn, she’s settling into her junior year of high school quite nicely. She speaks of a girl by the name of Max, but I haven’t met her as yet. In any event, between the transcripts I made up for her and her own innate intelligence, I have no doubt she’ll be able to get into any school in the country._

*****

September 20, 2004

I was still staring at Ms. Blake after she made her offer when the first customer of the day came in needing help. I excused myself and located the book the gentleman was looking for. Even as I answered his questions, I kept turning the sum she’d mentioned over in my mind. It was entirely appropriate for someone of my capabilities, but I hadn’t actually advertised what my skill level was. That she knew, that she could tell, either by my warding or by some other means, was disturbing.

As I rang up the sale, I rebuked myself in the comfort of my own mind for thinking that Dawn and I had a chance to slip back under the radar, now that Ms. Blake and Jean-Claude had dragged us into their orbit. I was suddenly reminded of the day I met Buffy, when she told me that she had given up slaying, but would still take out a vampire if one happened to cross her path. She’d been convinced that being the Slayer was something she could drop, like a class or a job, and that she could go back to having a normal life. Like she, I had been guilty of thinking that once the cat was out of the bag, it was possible to go on pretending that it was still in the bag.

I was well aware of Ms. Blake’s gaze on me the entire time I was helping Mr. Fredericks, but I ignored her as I sorted through my thoughts and feelings on the matter. It would be difficult, adjusting to the new reality, but the alternative was packing up and moving, and I couldn’t do that to Dawn or to myself. In any event, if I left, it would only be a matter of time before my St. Louis history caught up with me elsewhere. Was I to spend the rest of my life running and hiding? No. Of course not.

After Mr. Fredericks left, I turned and said, “I accept your commission, Ms. Blake, but I need to find out what Dawn’s schedule is before I can determine when to come out to your house.”

“Dawn? What’s she have to do with this? I’m hiring you,” she said. I was surprised by the lack of hostility in her voice. She was honestly puzzled by my mention of Dawn’s inclusion.

“I rely on Dawn to keep me grounded when I’m working significant magic, and she needs to be present during the initial walkthroughs as well as the castings. Without her, I would likely turn into just another dark sorcerer out to destroy the world,” I said, keeping my tone dry. The lie was in my tone of voice, not in the words. My innate magic had reacted strongly to the magic found in this world, and after three and a half years, I’d come to the conclusion that it was essentially an allergic reaction on my part. Allergy or no, it didn’t change the fact that I had the potential to do a tremendous amount of damage if I didn’t hold myself in check. Dawn acted as my leash, my anchor. If she hadn’t been here with me, I would have gone further down the dark road than I had when I was summoning demons with Ethan.

“The two of you are pretty close,” she said. It was a statement, not a question, and I didn’t really understand the emotion underlying her words.

“We’re closer than most, and we trust each other implicitly,” I said, watching her carefully. I thought I was on the verge of understanding her reaction, but when she noticed my attention, her expression went flat. There would be no answers forthcoming that day. Fair enough. I had no intention of discussing my life with her either.

“Fine,” she said. She pulled out a business card from her pocket and handed it to me, saying, “Call me when you’re ready to set something up.”

I accepted the card, noting the Animators, Inc. logo on the front and her home and cell phone numbers written on the back. I said, “The store is open Monday through Saturday, so Sundays are our only option until Nathaniel is able to handle things on his own.” I didn’t add that it would likely be months before that might occur. The three of us were well aware of his limitations, and we all of us hoped he would be able to overcome them.

“I go to church Sunday morning, so it will have to be the afternoon,” she said. “How long will it take to do the house?”

“Quite some time, actually, but we should be done before Thanksgiving. I’ll need to go through your home and vehicle to determine where the holes are, then I’ll need to adapt the spells to your location,” I said, watching to see her reaction. It wasn’t good.

Her frown turned into a glare, and she said, “Why so long?”

“You said you wanted protection from a demon attack, and that requires thorough preparation. Plus, you’ll need the time to learn how to own the wards and keep them fresh with your own magic,” I said as blandly as possible. I knew she was expecting me to react with anger over the fact that she dared question me, but I felt a neutral tone would do more to aggravate her.

I was right.

Her face flushed slightly, and I could see the anger building before she clamped down on it. She snapped out, “Fine,” then nodded once to Nathaniel before stalking out of the store. I never did have a chance to give her Dawn’s thank-you card.

I knew I was baiting her for no other reason than I could, and I thought I should perhaps feel ashamed of myself. I didn’t, though. I was far closer in spirit to Ethan than I cared to admit, and as he had done to me, I found myself doing what I could to break down Ms. Blake’s walls. I was playing a dangerous game, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. She brought out the worst in me.

I turned to Nathaniel, who had very carefully ignored everything that passed between his Nimir-Ra and his new employer. He was filling out paperwork as if it were the most important thing in the world, and I decided to leave him to it. The store was fairly quiet in the morning, as a rule, and it was then that I usually worked on translations. At the moment, I was working on a twelfth century illuminated manuscript by Giancarlo Bernulli. It was very valuable in its own right, but apparently the contents of the text added a secondary value all their own, if my fee for completing the translation was anything to go by. I went to the safe in the back, and I pulled out a photostat of one of the folios to take to the register with me. The actual manuscript remained under glass in Germany.

After twenty minutes or so, I looked up to find Nathaniel standing in front of the counter. He looked as if he might have been standing there for a few minutes, and I said, “When you need to speak to me, you’ll need to get my attention, otherwise I’ll remain lost in my own little world.”

“I don’t like to interrupt,” he said, still refusing to meet my eyes.

“Don’t be silly,” I said gently. “Even my newest customers know to tap me on the shoulder. All finished?”

He handed me the paperwork the government seemed to like so much, and I looked through it, making sure the essential pieces of information were filled in. I had made a photocopy of his social security card and identification, and gave both cards back to him. Once I filed his papers away, I said, “Ready to learn about the exciting world of retail?”

He smiled, and I began the process of introducing him to the stock we carried. It wasn’t difficult, but there was quite a bit of information to process and interruptions by customers to handle. Nathaniel had brought a notebook with him, and he took careful notes of everything I said. I learned to read his body language well enough to know when he had questions, but was hesitant to ask. After two hours, I managed to break through his submissive nature sufficiently to convince him that if he had a question, I would be quite upset if he _didn’t_ ask it.

After another hour, I finally asked, “Are you hungry?” At his nod, I handed him a twenty and gave him directions to go to the deli and pick up a Reuben for me and whatever he wished for himself.

Nathaniel hadn’t been gone more than five minutes when the phone rang. I picked it up and said, “Watcher’s Nook.”

“Mr. Giles?”

I sighed and said, “Yes, Mr. Farmer, it is I.”

“You recognized my voice after just two words?” He didn’t sound discomfited, precisely, but he didn’t sound particularly pleased, either. I didn’t see any reason to explain that he was recognizable because his speech lacked the inflections normally found in anyone who was from anywhere. At some point in the past, he’d gone to a great deal of trouble to alter his speech to match that described by a dictionary’s pronunciation guide.

“I have a good ear for voices. And I’ll tell you right now that my answer hasn’t changed,” I said as I started to sort through the morning’s receipts. I wanted to hang up on him, but he’d shown a disturbing persistence since last Friday. Given what little I knew of him, I doubted rudeness would convince him to leave me alone.

“I’m authorized to double the offer,” he said.

I stood there in shock, working my mouth to try to speak, but it was a moment before I located my voice again. I managed to stammer out, “For that amount, you might as well buy the original manuscript, Mr. Farmer.”

I heard him take a deep breath before saying, “Believe me, Mr. Giles, if I could, I would. Since that isn’t possible, you’re my only recourse.”

“I’m not your recourse at all,” I said. “What you’re asking is unethical. I’ve signed a nondisclosure agreement as to the contents of the translation, and I won’t break that contract.” I still didn’t know how he’d found out I was the one working on the manuscript. The first time he called, he listed off a great deal of information about the manuscript, its owner and the contract I signed with her. Pretending I didn’t know what he was talking about was more than a bit foolish. It had been all too clear that he knew what I had been working on for the last three months, and he offered me one hundred thousand dollars for a copy of the translation — _only_ the translation and _only_ a copy. He had no interest in the photostats of the manuscript. I turned him down flat, of course, but it hadn’t stopped him from calling me at home on Sunday to offer two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Now that he was offering me half a million dollars, I had to wonder just how far he might go to get what he wanted.

“Mr. Giles, I can’t explain why it’s so important that I get a copy of that translation, but it is. It’s terribly important,” he said. I thought I heard a vague threat in his voice, but I hoped I was wrong.

“I sympathize — truly, I do — but I’m not the one to talk to. You need to speak with the owner,” I said. Again. I was trying to avoid sounding exasperated, but it wasn’t easy. We’d been through all this before, and he simply wouldn’t accept that I was turning down his offer. For me, there was no question of accepting the money. The large sum alone was enough to warn me away from listening any more than I had to. The grand total of my commission for this project, my largest to date, would be about thirty thousand dollars from the rightful owner. An offer of half a million dollars from a complete stranger wasn’t simply absurd, it was impossible.

“I’ve spoken with Frau Schlechter several times, and she refuses to discuss the matter. Something about following her late husband’s wishes,” he said, his frustration coming through the phone line clearly.

“Yes, she is a bit determined to follow his wishes to the letter,” I said. It was an understatement, and if he’d spoken with her, he knew just how big an understatement it truly was. The late, lamented Herr Heinrich Schlechter had left incredibly detailed instructions on just what his widow was to do in the event of his death. The woman had been rather obsessively fulfilling his demands for the last six months, which is how I came to meet her. Evidently, Herr Schlechter had heard of me and told her to pay me to do the translation. The sum she’d offered was considerably larger than any other commission I’d earned, and I agreed to it quite happily. My acceptance was driven more by the fact that I’d just received the first semester’s bill from Washington University than it was by common sense. Had I thought it through, I think it’s likely I would have turned her down.

“I’ve considered slipping Zoloft into her morning chocolate, but I don’t think it will work,” he said dryly.

I let out a bark of laughter and said, “I suspect you’re right. I’m sorry, Mr. Farmer. Really. If I could help you, I would, but I take my contracts seriously.”

“Is it because you’re a Wiccan?” The question was casual — offhand, even — but it bothered me to no end that he knew that much about me. I was uneasy enough to decide I was going to have to have another talk with Dawn about personal safety.

“That’s part of it certainly,” I answered in what I thought was a calm voice, “but the larger part is that it’s bad business to betray a client’s trust. Was there anything else?”

“Not today. But think about it, will you? I’ll be in touch later this week,” he said before hanging up.

I stood there for quite some time, thinking about what had and what hadn’t been said. I didn’t trust him any further than I could throw him, and I didn’t believe for one minute that he would ever accept my answer. I sighed, thinking a bit wistfully about the money he was offering, then I made yet another attempt to reach Frau Schlechter. I’d been trying to get in touch with her ever since I first heard from Ned Farmer.


	3. Chapter 3

_Journal of Rupert Giles_

_September 25, 2001_

_Dawn and I celebrated her fifteenth birthday today as best we could. It wasn’t a terribly happy affair, given that we’re still living in cheap lodgings, but she seemed to like the CD player I found for her. At some point, enough time will have passed that we won’t mourn Sunnydale each time an anniversary or birthday happens without the rest of our loved ones around. I just wish I knew when that point might be. _

_I’d also like to know if we will ever get used to this world. This version of America is frightening in its naivete over the nature of vampires. I wish I felt confident enough with our paperwork and histories to be able to move us to Europe with its more conservative thinking, but I don’t. It will take a long while to develop a sufficiently deep and complex background story before I’m comfortable with the notion of foreign travel._

_Too, based on Dawn’s continuing slips of the tongue, I’ve decided to build histories for Joyce and Buffy as well. The story will be that Dawn’s sister and mother were killed in the San Andreas earthquake of 2000. So many were lost that it’s impossible to say who was and wasn’t there. It will cost more, but I think it will be worth it in the long run, if for no other reason than it will allow Dawn to talk as freely as possible about her mother and sister without fear of giving away the game._

*****

September 25, 2004

It was just coming on five o’clock in the morning when I took my guitar off its stand and crept quietly into Dawn’s room. An electric would have been better, but I hadn’t had time to rent one, so I had to make do with my acoustic. The lack of drums was also a problem, but I set the beat by slapping the guitar body with my hand. I played the first few chords as harshly as I could manage, and I bellowed out, “You say it’s your birthday...well it’s my birthday too, yeah...”

My serenade lasted all of thirty seconds before she threw a rather well-aimed pillow at me. When I continued singing, she graced me with a two-fingered salute then tried to bury herself deeper under the covers. I knew I’d pay for this on my next birthday, but a girl turned eighteen only once. I wanted her to know how much I cared. At the end of the song, all there was to do was watch an immobile lump on the bed, so I left her room to start preparing for the day.

As I took my shower, I considered the fact that three and a half years ago, I would have been far too burdened with the need to serve Buffy and to preserve the world to even consider letting loose as I had this morning. However, living with and caring for Dawn had given me back something I’d buried when Glory came to town — my sense of play. More important, I found the man I’d been before I lost myself to the cares of being a Watcher, and for that alone, I could never truly regret falling into this world. As for Dawn, I thought she’d blossomed magnificently once she escaped the long shadow cast by her sister. I still found myself suffering unbearable homesickness at times, but those instances were fewer and further between with each passing year.

I puttered around the apartment for the next few hours, tidying up and doing my usual weekend chores. At eight o’clock, there was a knock on the door. Her car had been delivered a bit early, and I went down to the alley to inspect it before signing for it. I put an oversize bow on the roof and an oversize card on the windshield, and at half past eight, I dragged Dawn out of bed for breakfast.

“Just so you know, I’m hiring some of Nathaniel’s friends from Guilty Pleasures to come in and strip for you on your birthday,” she said as she sat down to her waffles.

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” I put a platter of bacon in front of her. As part of the birthday truce (agreed to and ratified on September 24, 2002), I wouldn’t touch the meat until after she stepped away from the table.

“Since all of Nathaniel’s friends there are men, yeah,” she said, picking up a piece of bacon and taking the time to savor it and rub my face in the fact that I couldn’t touch it.

“I’m not sure how much of a threat it really is. I’ll simply advertise ahead of time, and we can sell tickets at the door.” She was flaunting her meat, and I considered pointing out that under the terms of the agreement, teasing wasn’t permitted. Still, I had awakened her rather rudely, so I said nothing.

“Huh. I may have to rethink my revenge on you,” she said before demolishing half her waffle. “I had a dream about Buffy this morning, after you scared half of St. Louis.”

“Oh?” I was curious as to how her dream had turned out. I’d had one other since Monday, and like the first, it had felt more like a conversation than a dream.

“Yeah. She likes the apartment. Says you did a nice job decorating it. But she was bitching because you never sang to her like that for _her_ birthday,” she said with a bit of a smirk. I sighed, wondering if the sibling rivalry would ever end.

“Buffy’s birthdays tended to go a bit bad. Singing was usually the least of our worries,” I reminded her.

“Yeah, that’s what I said, but it didn’t stop her from complaining. Anyway, she told me happy birthday, right before you dragged me out of bed.”

“Hm.”

“‘Hm’ what? Don’t just sit there with your Watcher face on and not share,” she said, pointing her fork at me in a threatening manner. It might have had more impact if a piece of waffle dripping with syrup hadn’t been about to fall off the end.

“Hm, as in I wonder what these dreams are about. I’ve often dreamt of Buffy since we landed here, but never like the two I had this week or the one you just described,” I answered before taking another bite of my waffle.

“Could it be her?”

“‘She’, and possibly. I’m just not sure why she would choose now to start haunting us. Nor am I certain as to how she accomplished it. If she truly is a ghost, she should be tied to the place of her death,” I answered.

“If you died in Sunnydale, would _you_ want to hang around there?” She had a good point.

When she finished eating, she grumbled mightily upon being told that a birthday didn’t mean she was getting out of taking the garbage down to the dumpster. She accused me of trying to get her to abandon the remainder of the bacon — which was true. It was clear she wouldn’t be able to finish it all. Two minutes after sending her out the door, I heard her shriek, and I offered a silent apology to whichever neighbors within a five-mile radius might have still been sleeping.

“You are _so_ mean!” She was standing in the door of the kitchen and glaring at me. “I’ve been saving up money for the last year to get a car. You could have told me!”

I looked at her as I chewed on a piece of bacon — even cold, it was wonderful — and asked, “And how much have you saved up?”

“About three thousand,” she said with a deep scowl.

“So you now have three thousand dollars with which to buy car insurance and whatever other accessories you might like to have,” I pointed out.

Her face fell a bit, and she said, “You’re not paying for insurance?”

“Absolutely not. If you have to pay for it yourself, you’ll have more incentive to drive safely,” I answered as I snagged another piece of meat. “Now. Do I get a hug or not?”

*****

The car was, in fact, already insured. Though I tried to talk myself into it, I simply couldn’t bring myself to give it to her, then tell her she couldn’t drive it just yet. I told Dawn how much she owed me, and as soon as she finished calling all her friends and getting dressed, she came down to the store to tell me she was driving to the bank — which was all of three blocks away — to get the money for me. When she returned, she announced that she needed to run to the Seven-Eleven for a pop, ignoring me with as much dignity as she could muster when I pointed out that there were several two-liter bottles upstairs. Nathaniel and I just laughed at her as she flounced out of the store.

“Is she always like that?” It was the first semi-personal question I’d heard him ask, and it gave me hope that he was growing confident in his place with us.

“Giddy, you mean, or completely irresponsible as to the use of fossil fuels?”

He gave a small giggle, then said, “Giddy. On her birthday, I mean.”

I finished restacking one of the book displays and said, “She’s not typically this bad, but I think she’s happy with the new car.”

Something about his lack of a response made me look over at him. His expression was far too old and sad to belong to him, and I found myself wanting to make whatever was wrong better. I realized I was starting to think of him as a son, and I wondered if I’d gone completely ‘round the bend. Nathaniel’s problems were many and varied, and imagining that giving him a healthy father figure would make everything better was — well — it was insane.

“Nathaniel?” I approached him cautiously. Wherever he was, it was a dark, lonely place. I didn’t want to startle him, but I wanted him out of there as soon as I could manage it.

“You two just — you love each other,” he said. “It’s something special to see.” He must have recalled himself at that point, because he seemed to give himself a mental shake before setting off to dust already-spotless shelves.

I considered pushing the issue, but before I could make a decision, the door opened to admit Jason. He was a feckless little snot, and I’d gotten to know him better than I wanted to since he’d driven me home from Jean-Claude’s lair. He was carrying a gaily-wrapped package, which he held before him as he said, “Greetings and salutations. I bring a gift for the birthday girl.”

“And who might be giving my daughter a birthday present?”

“Um, that would be Jean-Claude,” he answered, trying for abashed but failing miserably. It didn’t occur to me to wonder how Jean-Claude knew it was Dawn’s birthday. I assumed that Nathaniel mentioned it to Ms. Blake, who most likely mentioned it to Jean-Claude. Or perhaps the gossip took a different path. Or perhaps pixies whispered it to him.

“Pray tell — what gift would the master of the city find suitable to give to my only child?” Jason wasn’t quite the fool he pretended to be most of the time. He recognized a dangerous tone of voice when he heard it, and he responded accordingly.

“Nothing much. A merry widow, crotchless panties — the usual.” He nearly tripped over one of the displays when I lunged for the box, but he remained upright as he danced out of my reach, saying, “Relax, already. Do you really think Jean-Claude’s gonna do anything to piss you off when he’s been trying to get you to go out with him for the last week and a half? Get real. He got her some CDs is all. So where is she?”

“She’s —” The phone started to ring, and since I was closest, I answered, “Watcher’s Nook.”

“Daddy?” She sounded frightened.

“Dawn? Are you well?”

“Yes. Fine.” Wrong answer. Whoever had put the fear in her voice would pay dearly. I noticed absently that both Jason and Nathaniel had gone absolutely still, probably in response to my sudden anger and fear. She stammered slightly as she said, “There’s someone who wants to talk to you.”

I could hear the phone being handed to someone else before, “Mr. Giles?”

“Farmer!” My anxiety increased by factor of ten, and I suspected it would get worse before it got better. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jason pull a cell phone out of his back pocket. I just barely wondered who he was calling, because I was too busy struggling to regain control of my emotions before I did something rash and foolish.

“Mr. Giles, the offer for a copy of the translation still stands — half a million in the Swiss bank account of your choice. This morning, I’m sweetening the pot. Give me a copy, and you not only get the money, you also get the bonus prize of your daughter returning to you alive and well,” he said. The bastard.

“And I believe you because?” I was trying to calm myself down, but it wasn’t working. I was already making plans to hunt him down and slice him up into leopard-sized bites. It would be my present for Nathaniel at the next full moon. I couldn’t really remember if I’d ever been so angry, and I thought I’d reached a new level.

“I haven’t lied to you yet,” he said.

“Like hell you haven’t, _Ned Farmer_. Did you honestly think I’d believe that load of crap?” I tried to focus on Dawn and where she might be. I’d need to run a locator spell to be certain, but once I determined where she was at a given moment, I’d be able to track her around the world if necessary. My thoughts were too jittery, though. I kept swinging back and forth between ways to kill Farmer and ways to get Dawn back. I needed to get hold of myself, but I might as well have tried to sweep back the tides with a broom.

“Mr. Giles, believe me — if I’d been able to negotiate using anything other than your daughter, I would have. You have no idea how truly sorry I am,” he said. The sad part was that he did actually sound sorry. I didn’t believe it, naturally, but a part of me admired his effort on my behalf.

My anger suddenly converted from a raging hurricane to the eye of the storm, and Jason and Nathaniel’s relief was palpable. Unfortunately for them, the relief wouldn’t last long. “You have no idea how truly sorry you’ll be when I catch up with you,” I answered thoughtfully. The way I was feeling at the moment, it was no idle threat. It was a promise of pain to come.

I could feel my arms and legs start to tingle. It was the magic, of course, rising easily and readily to answer my need and to give voice to my anger. God, I’d forgotten how good that slow swell of power could make me feel. I could fly soon, if I wanted. And when I reached my full power, I would be able to pull apart the city one building at a time, if I decided to find my daughter that way. A small shudder ran through me as I tried to turn my thoughts away from the sweetness of complete chaos and destruction.

“Miss Giles and I will be at the Arch tonight at nine. I wouldn’t call the police, if I were you. They’d only get in the way,” he said calmly, and I agreed. No matter which of us was running the show at a given point, the police needed to be well away, lest they get injured.

“Trust me, Farmer, you will be seeing me long before nightfall, and when I’m through with you, in the brief time you have left, you will wish with all your heart that you’d chosen a different path this morning,” I said before hanging up on him. My time with Buffy had helped me learn that a threat wasn’t any good unless you could prevent the other party from attempting to one-up you.

My power was growing steadily, and with it, my sense of well-being. I didn’t think I’d felt this good in twenty years or more, and I would feel better and better as long as I controlled myself and didn’t get greedy. I wasn’t drinking the magic down in gulps, I was letting it fill me slowly. If I tried to take it in too fast, there would be turbulence, and if there was too much turbulence, I’d lose control entirely. I’d learned that lesson the hard way the first time I tried to ride magic. The attempt had ended badly, with Ethan nearly giving himself a hernia from laughing so hard.

“Nathaniel, unless you feel comfortable minding the store in my absence, I suggest you go home for the day,” I said soothingly. At least, I hoped it was soothing. Even with all that was happening, I really didn’t want to frighten the boy any more than necessary. I spared only a glance for him and noted that he’d crept over to Jason for comfort. As for Jason, he’d completely lost his cockiness. He was trying to use his phone, but I think I was throwing off too much energy for it to work.

I’d just gotten in a new supply of St. Louis maps — useful not only for determining ley lines, but also for certain castings — and I pulled one from behind the counter. I walked over to the magic provisions and started pulling out what I’d need for the locator spell.

I’m not sure how long it took me to gather everything, then cast the spell, but when I looked up from the map, Ms. Blake was standing there with her gun pointed at my heart. Clearly, she hadn’t intended harm when she came in, but if she tried to shoot me within my own wards, it would go very badly for her. “Don’t be silly,” I said, as if to a child. I allowed a whisper of power to engulf the gun and smiled when her hand opened reflexively to release a dove. It was a trick I remembered from our defeat of Adam.

“Shit. That was my favorite gun, you son of a bitch!” How typical. She was more worried about an inanimate object than she was about the nearly insane man floating in front of her. Perhaps when this was over, she and I would have a chat about priorities.

“Please get out of my way, Ms. Blake. I have an errand to run,” I said. I was rather proud of myself for remaining polite through it all. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was convinced that my civil behavior somehow meant I was still in control of myself and the situation. Amazing how foolish I could still get at my age.

She didn’t move, and I had to admire her for standing her ground when all her weapons were gone. Well, not _all_ her weapons. She still had her own magic, which was rising in response to mine. But hers was death magic. Strong as she was, she wasn’t a match for me in broad daylight, especially when I was in my power. She tried, though, and her determination impressed me. “Look, I know there’s a problem, and I’ll help you with that. But —”

She broke off suddenly, and I wasn’t sure why. But I was grateful to escape the lecture. I said, “Good day, Ms. Blake,” then started to leave. I realized I wasn’t moving anywhere, and that’s when I looked down and saw the owner of the hand which held me in place.

“Don’t do this, Giles.”

“Let go of me, Buffy.”


	4. Chapter 4

_Journal of Rupert Giles_

_September 23, 2004_

_I finally found the reason for Herr and Frau Schlechter’s interest in the translation of their manuscript. Presumably, Mr. Farmer wants it for the same reason as they — to learn how to resurrect the dead._

_It’s all so tacky, somehow. I don’t know why I expected any better of anyone in this world. Humans are humans, no matter what the universe. Greed and a desire to thwart the natural order of things lead to perversions like that found in Bernulli’s manuscript. When will people understand that death isn’t the enemy? _

_I’m not sure what to do. I haven’t been able to reach Frau Schlechter at all since last Friday, which leads me to wonder if she herself is still among the living. Farmer’s excessive offer makes it quite likely that he isn’t the only one after the translation. If that’s the case, the original may have already been taken from her._

_The other problem is that if she **is** alive and I complete the translation as agreed, I will be unleashing the potential for unmitigated horror in this world as the dead are returned to life. Aside from moral objections to that sort of thing, what kind of father would I be to Dawn if I allowed it to happen?_

_The only thing I can think to do is to provide an inaccurate translation. It will have to be one that’s close enough to true so that if another translator comes along, they won’t even question my interpretation. It will also have to be sufficiently wrong to prevent a spellcaster from succeeding. _

_It would be easier if I could get my hands on the original. I could alter the text with a slight bit of magic, and no one would be the wiser._

*****

September 25, 2004

I stood there for several minutes, just taking in her appearance. As a ghost, Buffy lacked the vibrant coloring she’d had when she was still alive. Her skin was very close to a translucent white porcelain in appearance, and her hair was a pale golden brown. Though solid, she had no clear definition from her surroundings. Instead, she seemed to blur slightly, as if one were looking at her through a soft focus lens. When she didn’t respond to my first demand, I told her again to release me.

Stubborn as ever, Buffy gripped my arm tightly and said, “No. I’m not letting go.”

“You’re dead,” I said irrelevantly, even as I started to struggle against her grip. Really, she shouldn’t have been able to hold me at all, let alone with strength like this. With the amount of power I was holding, I should have been able to break free at any time. But I couldn’t. Nor, in fact, could I maintain the level of fury I’d reached earlier.

“Don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but I shouldn’t even be visible, and don’t even get me started on how wrong it is for me to be solid,” she said. She gave me one of her patented sunshine-up-your-arse grins and said, “Wanna guess what went wrong?”

“Dammit, Buffy! He has Dawn. I have to get to her,” I said, desperately trying to reason with her. Surely she didn’t understand the gravity of the situation. If she did, she would have released me by now. In fact, she would be leading the charge to track him down. I just needed to get through to her somehow, make her see that mine was the only logical response to the situation. All I needed to do was get her blasted hand off my arm.

She ignored me. “I’m surprised half the ghosts in St. Louis haven’t crowded in here by now, what with all the magic you’re throwing off,” she said thoughtfully.

That got my attention, and I stopped trying to get away from her. “What?”

She turned to Ms. Blake and said, “The man goes all Darth Giles, and he can’t even figure out there might be just one or two teensy little consequences.” She turned back to me to say, “You know, for a Watcher, you can be pretty damn blind at times.” At my blank look, her exasperation with my inability to see what she meant increased, and she said, “Magic, Giles. Your magic made me visible and solid. Do you really want all the restless and pissed off spirits in the area getting a chance to do some real damage? ‘Cause I gotta tell you, there are some seriously deranged spirits in this town. It’s been a job of work this last week, just getting rid of some of the worst of them.”

Bloody hell. “No, of course I don’t want that. But Dawn —”

“Will be rescued,” she interrupted. “I have faith in _you_, but I don’t trust the power you’ve called up. You need to come down. You need to think your way through this. Reacting won’t save her. Thinking will,” she said, her voice soft and insistent as she pleaded with me.

“I can’t lose her,” I said, trying not to break down in front of everyone. “I mean it, Buffy. She’s what kept me going for the last three and a half years. Without her —” The thought of Dawn not being around didn’t bear examination. It was too horrifying.

“You won’t lose her. I promise. But you have to come down first. Please, Giles. I didn’t like seeing Willow like this, and it’s an even worse look on you. Come on — let me see those pretty green eyes again.”

She was cajoling me in ways she never had in life. Perhaps she’d learned wisdom somewhere along the line. Or perhaps I frightened her just that much. I wasn’t really certain it was the right thing to do, but I found I was happier to release the power I’d gathered than to hold it tightly. I wondered if Buffy’s solidity would fade as the energy dissipated, but she didn’t seem lose much in the way of mass when I finally came down, the borrowed power returned back to the earth.

“There’s my Watcher again,” she said, hugging me close. She didn’t have the strength she’d had earlier, but her hug felt good all the same. And I felt decidedly strange holding onto what should have been an apparition.

I pushed her away slightly, determined to get an answer to at least one question I had. “Buffy, how did you manage to end up here?”

“The hows and whys of the Buffyness standing before you will have to wait. What _I_ can’t figure out is how Dawn managed to get into trouble when it’s not even Tuesday,” she said, stepping away from me to approach Ms. Blake.

“No, I think I’d rather like to know now why you chose to make an appearance after all this time. Christ, Buffy. You died sixteen months ago,” I said. For the moment, I was ignoring the witnesses to our family squabble. I could only concentrate on two things at a time. One was Dawn, the other was Buffy. Ms. Blake, Nathaniel and Jason would just have to wait their turn.

“Maybe I just wanted to pass on that special Summers tradition of gut-wrenching birthday horror and misery,” she said as she circled Ms. Blake. Buffy seemed to enjoy the fact that she was making the woman uncomfortable. As it happened, I wasn’t to be spared from discomfort either. I nearly jumped out of my skin when Buffy said, “She’s kind of cute. You guys dating?”

Ms. Blake and I answered in unison with a resounding, “NO!” I think it was the first time we had been in complete agreement over anything. She must have realized it, too, based on the glare she shot at me. I thought about telling her that if we were going to agree on anything, not dating was probably the best point on which to agree.

“Buffy —” It was my warning voice, though I didn’t know how I expected to be able to carry through on the implied threat. Perhaps mentioning exorcism would be enough to keep her in line. Or not. Buffy always could wind me around her little finger, and it was clear death hadn’t really changed that fact.

As it turned out, the lack of muscle behind my warning didn’t matter. Ms. Blake had reached her limit and gave voice to her frustration. “You!” She pointed at me before continuing, “I get a call from Jason not twenty minutes ago telling me you look like you’re about to take the world apart with your bare hands, and then the damn phone cuts off before I can find out why. When I get here, you’re _floating_! And the last time I saw eyes as black as yours, I’d just been touched by the mind of a vampire, but Jason says no, that’s all you. Maybe I shouldn’t have pointed a gun at you, but that was no reason to turn it into a freakin’ bird! And what the hell have you been doing with your life that you’re not even the tiniest bit surprised when a ghost appears before you?”

“Ms. Blake —”

“What the HELL is going on around here?” Her skin was quite flushed, and I hoped she didn’t have any hidden medical conditions.

“Anita?”

She turned violently to face Jason, and I honestly believe that if she’d still had her gun, she would have shot him. “What?”

“He’s upset because Dawn’s been taken,” he said. At that moment, I saw the man he could become if he’d ever decide to grow up. “A man named Ned Farmer was the one who did it.”

I didn’t realize until I heard her muttered, “Shit,” and saw the look on her face that she might have something to do with Farmer. I could feel my anger and magic rising again and was about to demand an answer when Buffy took hold of my arm again. In a calming tone, she said, “Easy, now. Relax. No more Black Magic Watcher.”

Ms. Blake backed away from me slowly, as if I might pounce at any moment. She pulled out her cell phone and made a face when it refused to function. I again forced myself to release the magic, though this time, it was considerably more difficult. The object of my ire was standing before me, and it would have been nothing to take her apart. Still, I tamped down my magic in response to Buffy’s insistence that I do so.

Nathaniel sidled up to her and told her about the phone next to the cash register. I made to follow, but Buffy wouldn’t let me get too close. She wanted me out of arm’s reach of Ms. Blake — not that it really mattered. All I needed was to see her. She looked over at me from behind the counter and said, “I’m pretty sure I know who has Dawn. I’m going to make a call, okay?”

After Buffy tightened her grip — she seemed to get stronger when my magic was rising — I grudgingly relaxed and said, “Fine. Call.”

After she dialed, I heard her mutter, “Pick up, pick up, pick — Edward?...I know about Dawn Giles...How else? I’m here right now,” she said, looking at me to determine my position relative to hers. She caught sight of the dove flying above her and scowled as she said, “He’s not going to cooperate...Remember my eyes that one time?...Yeah, New Mexico. His were worse, and he did it on his own. What the hell were you thinking?...Yeah, and they should have given you a clue not to mess with him...No, you didn’t see what I just saw him do to my gun. You’re going to have to bring her back...Are you even thinking right now?...What?”

Her face filled with a mixture of anger and fear as she listened to him. “Shit...Do you know where they are?...No, he won’t. He’ll pull you into a million little pieces before he’ll give you what you want, and he’ll still get his daughter back alive and intact...If you bring her back on your own, he _might_ be willing to help when he hears why you did something so incredibly stupid,” she said, even as her face betrayed her doubt over my cooperation. “Yeah, I think he could, but you have to let Dawn go first...I know it goes against the grain...You’re going to have to trust me on this...No, not here. I don’t think you could get in. How about Dead Dave’s?...Yeah...Half hour.” She hung up without saying goodbye.

Ms. Blake turned to me and sent a grateful look to Buffy for keeping me at a distance. “His name is Edward, and he’s a long-time associate of mine. The only reason Dawn’s not dead is because he knows that you and I are acquaintances. We have an agreement not to kill anyone the other person knows. You with me so far?”

“I’m not actively trying to kill you at the moment, and I think that’s the best you can hope for at the moment,” I answered. I was glaring at her, but that evidently didn’t bother Buffy. She seemed only to intervene when my magic threatened to rise again.

She nodded in agreement, and I had to wonder what kind of life _she’d_ led, where the exclusion of immediate death was an acceptable middle ground. “Extortion and kidnapping aren’t Edward’s usual line of work, but his back’s against the wall right now. His —” she paused, shaking her head and looking as if she couldn’t believe what she were about to say, then continued, “His wife and children are being held hostage.”

“Oh, please — do you honestly expect me to believe that?” She was trying to make excuses for him, and I would have left to go after him if Buffy hadn’t held tight.

“He never should have married Donna, and I told him that. He shouldn’t have gotten involved with anyone not in his line of work,” she said. “But he did, and now she and her kids are being held until he turns over a copy of the translation you’ve been working on. That’s why he took Dawn — so you would negotiate.”

I started to reply, but Buffy said, “Giles, it’s you in his place, and Dawn is being held hostage. Weren’t you about to do something even more stupid?” She had a point.

I looked over at Ms. Blake and said, “Do you believe him?”

“Yeah. Edward’s acting too out of character for it not to be true. He needs my help, but I think he needs yours more, if what I just saw is any indication,” she said.

“I’m not handing over the translation,” I said. I had discovered the relevant section of the manuscript two days ago, and I had spent a considerable amount of time studying it. As a recipe for resurrecting the dead, it was thorough and concise — and it could also work. I hadn’t had enough time yet to falsify the translation. I needed at least another week to manage it, which meant that Ned — or Edward — was out of luck for the moment.

She looked at me, her own anger rising again, and said, “You’d let his family die?”

“I know why the translation is so popular. It’s too dangerous to hand over,” I answered. “But I’m willing to help him get his family back _after_ he returns Dawn to me.”

I thought it was a reasonable compromise, but Ms. Blake didn’t agree. “What makes you the judge of what’s safe and what’s dangerous?” Her outrage was plain, both in her voice and in the way she held herself.

“He knows,” Buffy said. “He always knows. It’s his job. Or it was, anyway. I guess not so much these days, especially now that I’m dead, but if he says something’s too dangerous, he means it.”

Ms. Blake turned her attention to Buffy and said, “Just who the hell are you?”

“Dawn’s sister,” she said. Buffy turned to me, then, and said, “By the way, I heard what you told her Monday morning about a blind goat herder driving better than me.”

I was still in a stand-off with Ms. Blake when I corrected her absently, “I believe I mentioned a blind goat herder from the thirteenth century, and it’s true.”

“You are _so_ paying for that when this is all over.”


	5. Chapter 5

_Journal of Rupert Giles_

_May 26, 2001_

_Dawn refuses to speak to me. She just walks by me as though I’m not there. I know she must be terribly upset over what’s happened, but she won’t talk about it. She’s decided that I’m lying to her for some reason, and she doesn’t want anything to do with me. _

_I wish I could make this easier for her, but there’s nothing I can do until she accepts my authority in the matter. Like it or not, I’m the only one she has left who’s even close to family. This transition might have been easier if Dawn and I had been close before falling into this world, but of necessity, my focus was always on Buffy. Nor does it help that only a few days ago, I was advocating her death to prevent Glory from destroying the world._

_Between her anger, my guilt and our grief, I wonder if we’ll survive for any length of time in this world._

*****

September 25, 2004

In the end, it was Nathaniel who broke the stalemate between Ms. Blake and me. He reminded us that we had an appointment to meet Farmer at Dead Dave’s and that we should probably leave soon. With one last scowl in her direction, I turned away from Ms. Blake and went to gather supplies for a locator spell. When I had everything I needed, I locked the front door, turning the “Closed” sign around to face the street.

“We’ll take my car. It’s out back,” I said.

“I have to stop at my Jeep first,” said Ms. Blake.

“Why?”

She pointed at the dove, which had just relieved itself on a stack of John Edward’s newest release, and said, “Because you did that. I need to get another gun, and I keep a spare in my Jeep.”

I sighed heavily and let her and Jason out the front, saying we’d meet them at the bar. Suddenly, the idea of having to ride with her for any length of time was too much. Nathaniel, curiously enough, stayed with me and Buffy. I’m not sure why. She and I started bickering as soon as we started out through the back of the building, and it should have been enough to scare him off.

“I can’t believe you think I drive that badly,” Buffy said, not letting go of comments I made earlier in the week.

“Drove. You _drove_ that badly. When you were alive,” I said. “Do you recall a little incident with the Citroen and a public fountain? It’s a wonder you didn’t kill the car then.”

“The car? What about me? I broke two nails that night,” she said, her eyes alight with a hint of mischief I couldn’t recall seeing since before Joyce died.

“Yes, and you very nearly broke my will to live,” I said, closing and locking the delivery door behind us. Nathaniel seemed to be absorbing our byplay the way dry ground will absorb water. He did the same thing when Dawn and I started in on each other, and I paused for a moment, nearly allowing my worry over her to incapacitate me. Buffy and Nathaniel both seemed to understand. She tugged on my right arm, while he took hold of my left hand. By the time we reached my car, I was in control once again.

The drive to the bar didn’t take all that long, and I saw Ms. Blake’s Jeep already parked. I didn’t see Dawn’s car, which made it likely it was still parked wherever she left it. Unless, of course, they weren’t there yet. Something must have shown in my face again, because Buffy touched my arm and said, “It’ll be okay. And if she isn’t there, I promise I’ll let you tear the city a new one, okay?”

It was enough to get a grin and a bit of a laugh out of me. “You’re too good to me. Keep it up, and you’ll start to spoil me,” I told her. I reached over to touch her cheek — she was definitely losing solidity — and added, “You’ve no idea how much we missed you.”

“Yadda, yadda,” she said with a grin. “Keep up the schmaltz and Nate’s gonna think he stepped into the middle of a soap opera. You good to go?”

“I’m not feeling homicidal at the moment, but that could change.” I could feel my jaw clench as my anger started to rise again. And with the anger came magic, and with the magic came a stronger grip for Buffy’s hand. It hadn’t taken long to understand the rules. It was clear now that as my magic rose, so too did Buffy’s solidity and strength. I just hoped I would never be in a position to force her into using either against me. Covering her hand with my own, I said, “Let’s go.”

Nathaniel and Buffy followed me inside, and it took a moment to adjust to the dim interior of the bar after the bright morning light. It was why I didn’t see the tackle coming.

“Dad!” Dawn nearly bowled me over, but I grabbed hold and buried my nose in her hair while keeping the two of us upright. When we were both assured of the other’s well-being, I took her face in my hands to drop a kiss on her forehead.

“Are you alright, pet?” I watched carefully for signs that she might be trying to hide something from me, but there were none. Her face was as open as it had been the last time I saw her. Could it really have been just over an hour ago? With all that had happened, it seemed that a year must have passed at the very least.

“I’m good — really,” she said, standing still for my inspection. It became apparent the reason for her docility was that she was conducting her own inspection of me. “Anita said you were doing some seriously weird stuff a little while ago. Are _you_ okay?”

The look on her face when she referred to Ms. Blake by her first name was pure imp. She was waiting for me to correct her, but I no longer had the right. Instead, I ignored her inappropriate use of the woman’s first name with as much dignity as possible.

“He’s good,” Buffy said. “Went over to the dark side for a while, but I reminded him the Force was with him.”

“Buffy? Buffy!”

“Ow,” I said after I was shoved against the bar when Dawn launched herself at her sister.

Buffy did as I had done — she grabbed Dawn and didn’t let go until it was clear they were stable and in an upright position. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you in Heaven? Don’t tell me they held Angel against you.”

Buffy started to look uncomfortable with the line of questioning, and all she would say was, “No. Nothing like that. It’s a long story, and I don’t know that we need to go into it right now.” I watched as Buffy lifted her hand in a familiar gesture. It had always calmed the two of them when she was alive, and it was no different now when she ran her fingers through Dawn’s hair.

I wasn’t so completely lost in memories and the tempered joy of the reunion that I didn’t notice Ms. Blake and her companion approach. I turned to them, my face tight and no doubt pinched, and said, “Mr. Farmer, I presume.”

He nodded once and said, “Edward.”

I nodded back to him just before I lashed out with a rather decent left hook. I was quite happy to see him go down and even happier to see the slight trickle of blood that ran out of the corner of his mouth. I could also see evidence of Dawn’s struggle against him; she’d scraped her fingernails down one cheek, drawing blood. I think she was aiming to gouge an eye out, but he must have moved before she could get her thumb in. I was thrilled that she’d been able to use her training in the real world — not everyone could make the transition from the training room to the street. I was not, however, thrilled with the amount of pain radiating from my hand. I’d forgotten how much bare-fisted fighting could hurt.

Farmer looked up at me with dead eyes, a promise of hidden violence. But, as with Ms. Blake and Jean-Claude, the man had no look or attitude that could remotely compare to Angelus. He was the standard by which I measured anyone attempting to project the notion that they were dangerous beyond description, and he would likely remain so to the end of my days. The look I returned was bland and the slightest bit quizzical.

He pushed himself up, and I found it interesting both that Ms. Blake didn’t help him up and that he didn’t act as if he expected her to. When we faced each other again, I was considerably calmer and said, “Do you have anything that belongs to one of your family members?”

Without looking away from me, he said, “Anita, are you sure about this?”

“I saw the map he used to find Dawn. You were at Palmer and Seventh,” she said.

Most people were generally startled when they were presented with hard evidence of successful magic. Not this man. He didn’t react other than to pull a small cardboard box out of his pocket. I could hear Dawn trying to catch Buffy up on all that had happened since we had been removed from Sunnydale, and I sincerely hoped her attention would remain away from us. I doubted that whatever he had would make for pleasant viewing.

I held out my hand, and he placed the box in it. When I opened it, I found a severed pinky. It belonged to an adult female who was fond of bright pink nail varnish, and I was sincerely grateful they hadn’t sent pieces of either of the children. My nose flared at the smell of blood, but there was no whiff of decay. It was a fresh amputation.

Ms. Blake stepped closer to take a look, and in a low voice, she said, “I’m pretty sure she was alive when they did this. You can see slight bruising along the edge. They took it from her left hand. Looks like they’ve had her for a few days. The polish is chipped.”

I wondered how she could see that much detail in the low light, but I didn’t worry over it. Either she had good eyesight, or she was displaying a benefit of her association with Jean-Claude. And whilst I appreciated the fact that she was trying to reassure Farmer with her recitation, I could have done without the forensic analysis.

Or perhaps not. If, in fact, the woman had been alive when they did this — and was still alive — I would find it easier to do the spell. I only hoped the children were still with their mother.

I walked past Farmer with my supplies and his wife’s finger still in my possession, wondering if he’d lash out at me. He didn’t, which told me he had considerably more restraint than I did. Then again, I wasn’t the one who’d taken his family. I doubted his family’s abductors would be alive within twenty-four hours.

I heard the murmur of Ms. Blake’s voice behind me, and I wondered what she was saying to him. Given what she had said of their relationship earlier, it was clear enough they knew one another in some kind of professional capacity. That being the case, it seemed entirely likely she was talking him out of killing me. Ignoring the two of them for the moment, I found a table in the back of the room, then called to Buffy.

I opened the map and put it on a neighboring table, then I pulled the rest of the supplies out of my bag and started dropping ingredients into the mortar. When everything was in the bowl, I used the pestle to grind it all together before transferring the mixture into a larger, unglazed bowl. As horrible as it was, we were fortunate they had sent him something with her blood on it. Had Farmer had any other item, the spell would have taken longer, and the certainty of success would have been lessened. I considered it further and realized there might be a chance of using the mother’s blood to find the children as well.

Dawn stalked toward me, a frown on her face, and said, “Why her?”

I blinked at her display of jealousy, though I suppose I should have expected it. It had only been this morning that I realized their sibling rivalry hadn’t lessened one bit. “She won’t have nightmares. You will,” I answered.

Her face scrunched up as she stopped, then backed up a bit. “Gross stuff?”

“Without question,” I answered. “I suggest you not watch.”

Dawn turned away, and Buffy approached cautiously, which I thought was a bit absurd, all things considered. She said, “What about me? I might have nightmares, too.”

I looked over at Buffy and said, “Do you even sleep?”

As I picked up the finger to squeeze a bit of blood into the casting bowl, I thought it was lucky for the woman that they’d chosen such a small body part to take. She wouldn’t die from blood loss or shock, and if she was right-handed, she would have a relatively easy time getting used to the finger being gone. But if they didn’t treat the wound, infection could set in all too easily. She needed to be found and taken to a hospital as quickly as could be managed.

“Well, no,” she admitted reluctantly as I returned the finger to its cardboard box. She’d made a face as she watched me manipulate it to get the blood, but other than that, she was fine.

“Stop pouting, then, and stand next to me. I need to draw in a certain amount of magic to complete this spell, and I know what that amount is. Your job is to keep me from taking anymore than necessary,” I said as I pulled out a box of wooden matches.

“How will I know what’s too much?” She sounded uncertain.

“You didn’t have any trouble knowing when to stop me earlier,” I groused. I still would have liked to have done _something_ to Ms. Blake.

Dawn spoke up, then, and said, “He’s right. If you stopped him earlier, you can do it now. There’s a point where he starts to feel weird. It’s hard to explain, but he stops feeling like Dad. That’s when you start tugging on him and making him come back.”

When she called me Dad, I looked over at her in surprise. I think it was the first time I realized how completely she and I had become a family. I’d half-expected her to go back to calling me Giles now that Buffy was in her life again — for however long she was staying — and I was touched beyond measure that she hadn’t. I was even more pleased when Buffy didn’t attempt to correct her. She simply nodded and said, “I think I know what you mean. It’s a kind of oogie feeling, right?”

“With a touch of yeesh,” Dawn agreed, adding a shudder for a visual effect.

I glared at them both and said, “If you’re quite finished?”

Ms. Blake and Mr. Farmer approached the tables where I’d set up for the spell, while Jason and Nathaniel remained at the front of the bar. I couldn’t blame them for their reluctance to come any nearer. The last time they’d seen me do this spell, I’d gone all — er — Darth Giles. It was evident that the bartender had been apprised of the situation, because he made no effort to stop me. The few other patrons in the establishment ignored us entirely. One of the few advantages of meeting in a vampire bar was the lack of interest displayed by the other inhabitants.

I created my circle, then I dropped a lit match into the casting bowl and began the chant. The smoke rose upward, and as I continued the spell, it wound its way around the map. About three quarters of the way through, I started frowning at what I was seeing. The smoke was hovering over no less than fifteen different locations throughout the city. When I finished the incantation, I looked up to see Ms. Blake wearing what was no doubt a twin of my own scowl.

“That’s not what happened at the store,” she said.

“That’s because Mr. Farmer wasn’t attempting to shield Dawn from being located with magic,” I said. I was disgusted, and I didn’t care who knew it. The only way they could have set up so many falsely shielded locations was by using Mrs. Farmer’s blood in the spells. I’d be able to break through to the truth eventually, but I would need to use a great deal more magic, something which Buffy and Dawn would most certainly frown over. Frankly, I frowned over it myself, but I’d been put to a great deal of trouble today because of this situation, and I was willing to put aside my own concerns to bring an end to it.

“You can’t find them,” Farmer said, his voice flat and unfriendly.

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” I said as I watched the smoke continue to hover. I was trying to get a feel for the different locations and determine if one felt more humanish than any of the others. “Buffy, you’re going to have to let me draw in more power so I can break through the spells.”

“No way,” she said.

Dawn was facing me again, and she was somewhat more reasonable as she asked, “How much more?”

“More than any of us like, but it shouldn’t be as bad as it was at the store,” I answered, adding the last for Ms. Blake’s benefit as well as Nathaniel and Jason’s.

Dawn and I looked at one another for a long moment before she finally nodded and said, “Okay.”

“What? No way!” Buffy was clearly aghast that she was being overridden by her younger sister.

I was about to speak, but Dawn beat me to it. “Buffy, I know this is kind of weird for you, but you have to trust me. And him. You haven’t been here with us. You don’t —”

She cut herself off, but I knew she’d been about to tell her sister she didn’t fit in. It wasn’t quite right, but it wasn’t quite wrong, either. It was mostly a matter of Buffy needing to be brought up to speed on certain matters. Now, however, wasn’t the time to explain to her that in many ways, Dawn and I were closer than she and I had ever been.

From the look on Buffy’s face, I didn’t need to — she’d understood Dawn as easily as I had. More than anything, I wanted to remove the sadness from her expression, but that would have involved pretending that my relationship with Dawn was something less than it was. After looking at Dawn for a long moment, she looked at me as she spoke to her sister, “Make sure I don’t bring him down too soon, okay?”


	6. Chapter 6

_Journal of Rupert Giles, Watcher_

_February 24, 1997_

_I’m settling into my new role as librarian at Sunnydale High School, and I only hope I can survive the cultural wasteland represented by the student body. I can count on one hand the number of times a student enters the library in a week, and that’s if I discount Miss Rosenberg. She’s a sweet-tempered girl and quite bookish. She stops in at least two or three times a day, looking for one thing or another. _

_The other day, she was in when that Calendar woman stopped by to inform me that the library catalogue would soon be transferred to the computer system. Happily, Miss Rosenberg was able to translate the woman’s incessant prattling for me and explain what was expected._

_I’ll be happier when Miss Summers arrives, and I can finally take up my true duties. If nothing else, they’ll distract me from the idiocies of the Sunnydale educational system and its primary representative, Principal Flutie._

*****

September 25, 2004

Two hours after I began my efforts in Dead Dave’s, I was exhausted from the effort it had taken to both contain and control my magic. Even so, I had been successful. I not only had a location for Mrs. Farmer, I also knew where the two children, Peter and Becca, were being kept. I wanted nothing more than to sleep, and I gathered my things up with every intention of going straight home to take a nap.

Farmer stood in front of me and said, “Where are you going?”

“Home. To sleep,” I said without looking up from my task. When I was sure I hadn’t left anything behind, I made to step around him, but he took hold of my arm.

“You said you’d help get my family back if I gave you your daughter back.” His eyes were still flat and deadly.

I considered various responses, but in the end, I was too tired to do anything more than shake off his hand and say, “You know where they are now, which is considerably more than you knew this morning. I would say I’ve fulfilled my end of the bargain.” I paused a moment, then added, “You might want to be careful, though. They knew enough to use Mrs. Farmer’s blood in shielding spells, so they should have known enough not to send you her finger. Either you’re being set up, or they’re arrogant enough to assume that no one can break through the spells they cast.”

Had I been more awake, I think I would have probably been more willing to jump in to help save everyone, but I couldn’t. I was too close to falling asleep on my feet to consider doing anything more until I’d rested up. I hadn’t crashed — I couldn’t with both Dawn and Buffy doing what they had to in order to bring me back down — but I wasn’t young enough to brush off the effects of that much magic and effort as casually as I had once done.

And lord, what magic. With the help Buffy and, eventually, Dawn had provided, I had enough control that I’d felt my eyes convert to black just twice, and both times were brief. My feet never once left the ground. Because she stood so close to me during the casting, Buffy was nearly as solid and alive-looking as she had been when she was — well — alive. If I hadn’t known her for the ghost she was, I would have mistaken her for a living being. I noted absently that she had wandered off and was giving Jason the once over. Worse still, the brat actually had the gall to preen for her.

I was about to object their behavior, but Farmer wasn’t finished with me. He took my arm again, albeit more gently than the first time, and said, “Forrester. My wife and kids know me as Ted Forrester.”

He was starting to irritate me. “Ned Farmer, Ted Forrester. What’s Edward’s last name — Fisher?” I was prepared to continue with sarcastic remarks, but the unexpected flicker in his eye when I said Fisher made me stop. Bloody wonderful. I sincerely hoped I hadn’t just guessed his true name, but given the amount of magic and concentration I’d needed to use to locate his wife and children, it was possible I’d gotten a bit psychic with him. Ms. Blake hadn’t reacted, so perhaps I was in the clear.

His hand tightened a bit on my arm. His eyes were no longer cold and dead. They burned with an intensity that bordered on zealous, and I was surprised yet again — this time by a tendril of fear. I hadn’t thought him capable of that much passion, otherwise I wouldn’t have underestimated him. He said, “Aside from Anita, those are the only people in the world I’ll die for.”

Message received.

“Mr. Forrester,” I said, fighting back a yawn that threatened to engulf the whole of the bar, “I can do nothing for you right now. I can barely keep my eyes from crossing, so why you think I can go charging off on a rescue mission is beyond me. I need to sleep. If you honestly need my help, it will have to wait until I’ve recovered.”

“Give me the translation, and I won’t have to wait,” he said.

I was too tired to watch my tongue. I snapped, “No! It’s too bloody dangerous to hand over. It’s a recipe for resurrecting the dead. Do you really want the dead coming back to life? And I’m not talking about zombies, here. I’m talking about a true resurrection — a Lazarus-style resurrection.”

Ms. Blake came out with a softly spoken, “Shit.” She turned to him and said, “He’s right. It’s too dangerous —”

“But —” His frustration was evident.

“Think about it, Edward. Think about your dead coming back to life again,” she said. I tried not to think about the slight emphasis she placed on the word “your” even as I realized I should have known that she would take my side in this. Anyone with a conscience who worked death magic for a living would agree with me, because they knew too well how dangerous it could be to play at being God.

This was the first chance I’d had to think clearly about anything since Farmer — Forrester — took Dawn, but my mind wasn’t functioning all that well at the moment. If it had been, I would have sent Dawn off to keep Buffy away from Jason instead of letting her stand there and listen.

I said, again, “I can do nothing for you right now. I need sleep. And if Ms. Blake is going to help retrieve your family, you’re better off waiting until nightfall, when her magic will be stronger.”

“What about your magic? Won’t it weaken after nightfall?” It was a good question, and it told me he was starting to think instead of trying to react. I managed to not wince when I heard myself replaying Buffy’s words relative to Forrester, but it was a near thing.

“I can call it up at any time. The sun has no effect on me,” I answered. And this time I wasn’t able to prevent a yawn. “Buffy,” I said, calling her back to me. “Take these things out to my car, will you?” I held up the bag and shot a glare at Jason, who did as he always did — he gave me an insouciant, unrepentant grin. It was a wonder Jean-Claude hadn’t murdered him yet. Buffy left her admirer reluctantly, but when she saw the state I was in, her pout was replaced by a look of concern.

“You gonna be okay?”

Dawn glared at Forrester, who finally let go of my arm, and said, “He needs to sleep. Big time. He _doesn’t_ need to think about going out and trying to be a superhero.”

Buffy took the bag out of my hand, and I went to follow her to the car. I didn’t expect that I would stumble as badly as I did, but Forrester managed to catch me. It couldn’t have been easy. I had five or six inches height on him, and perhaps an extra forty or fifty pounds.

When he stood me upright again with Dawn’s help, he seemed finally to see the state I was in. “Sleep. I’ll have Anita get in touch with you later today.” He added, “I have to get them back tonight, and I need your help.”

He didn’t look any happier about his admission of needing my help than Dawn or Buffy did at hearing it. But if it allowed me to go home, I was willing to accept his offer. I nodded my agreement, then walked out with Dawn on one side and Buffy on the other.

*****

After four hours of blissful and uninterrupted sleep, I felt like a new man. I found Dawn and Buffy in the kitchen. Dawn had a dish of ice cream in front of her, and Buffy looked on with longing. She’d faded again, and I doubted that she was all that solid anymore. I really should have chosen to eat something healthier, but ice cream sounded better than anything I could think of, so I fixed a bowl for myself.

Dawn said, “It’s about time you got up. Maybe now you can talk Buffy into letting you try that resurrection spell on her.”

I stiffened as I stood at the counter, wondering how the hell I was supposed to answer that. I knew perfectly well why I objected, and I assumed Buffy had her own reasons, if the two of them had been discussing it since we returned from the bar.

Buffy saved me from having to answer. “No,” she said. I looked back to see Dawn starting to object, but Buffy just shook her head. “No. I didn’t come here to be resurrected.”

“Why _did_ you come?” She’d been avoiding the question all day, and I was getting more than a little put out because of it. Granted, there had been extenuating circumstances, but now, with just family around, there was no reason for her to hesitate any further.

After a long moment, she finally said, “Willow. She’s trying to resurrect me.”

Of all the answers I thought I’d hear, that wasn’t one of them. “Why would she try to do such a thing?”

Buffy looked deeply unhappy, but she finally told her story. Shortly after Dawn and I disappeared, Willow and Tara moved in with Buffy to help her through that difficult time. All was as well as could be expected for a little while, but not well enough for Willow’s tastes.

“She started with little things. If we got upset with her, she’d do a little forget spell so we wouldn’t be angry with her anymore. Then she branched out. If she didn’t like the way we felt about something, she’d do a little spell to change our minds,” Buffy said bitterly. “Then it turned out we weren’t — I wasn’t — grieving quickly enough for her. Never mind that I had lost my mother, my sister and you within a couple of months of each other. I was supposed to get over it and be happy again. And she made sure of that. When Xander and Anya started causing problems because they weren’t under her constant surveillance, she made them move into the house with us.”

Willow had gone more than a bit power mad, and she seemed to have lost her conscience along the way. No one knew the extent of her mischief until Ethan Rayne showed up one day. He’d apparently escaped the Initiative some time earlier and came looking for me to take his revenge. Instead, he found a household full of shiny, happy people, with Willow pulling everyone’s strings.

“He never did say exactly how he managed it, but he bound her power,” she said. “Willow had been using us like sock puppets for months before he was able to break her hold over us.”

“What happened after Ethan freed you?” I had nightmare visions of Willow lying broken and bleeding on the floor.

Buffy said, “We all — we all remembered everything, once he broke the spells she’d done. Tara just left. She never did come back for her things. Xander had to tackle Anya to keep her from going after Willow with a butcher’s knife. The only thing that kept her from calling in one of her vengeance demon friends was the fact that Ethan was starting to do such a good job of punishing Willow on his own.”

“What do you mean?” I flashed back to my early days with Ethan and recalled some of his less savory methods of training the newer members of our little gang.

“You know Ethan. I don’t think I need to draw a diagram for you,” she said. I was grateful for her tact — there were some things that Dawn _really_ didn’t need to know, now or ever. “I’m not sure what’s worse — what Willow did to us or what I let Ethan do to her as punishment.”

Dawn looked physically ill when she tried to change the subject by asking, “How did Sunnydale get destroyed?”

“It took her a long time, but Willow was finally able to slip out of Ethan’s bindings. She had worked up some quality rage, and she decided to open the Hellmouth to teach us all a lesson,” Buffy answered quietly, with regret coloring every word. “As far as I could tell, Ethan managed to shut it down while Spike did what he could to fight back the demons trying to escape into our world. I don’t know if they survived after that. I was bleeding heavily, and I thought I saw Willow die just before I did, but I found out I was wrong.”

“She survived, and now she’s trying to bring you back?” I had a hard time digesting everything Buffy was saying, but it all rang true. I’d noticed for quite some time that Willow’s magical efforts were driven more by the desire to prove herself than by a respect for the natural order of things. The problem was that I’d done nothing to stop her, which meant I shared at least part of the blame for her actions.

“Yeah, she’s looking for payback. The thing is that the Powers can’t go up against her directly at this point. She sucked up some pretty powerful magics right after she escaped, and she managed to seriously destabilize the mystical balance in our world. The best they can do is hide me from her until things settle down again. Or until she dies.”

Dawn frowned and said, “What makes you think she won’t find you here?”

“She’s looking for a soul in one of the heavenly dimensions, not a ghost in one of the earthly dimensions,” Buffy said, looking at us with a troubled expression. “She can’t be allowed to resurrect me. If she does —”

She didn’t finish her sentence, and frankly, she didn’t need to. I was well aware of the possible repercussions. They were severe enough if one was speaking of an ordinary human. Add the mystical energy of a Slayer to the mix, and they became downright horrifying.

“We’ll need to take precautions against her finding you. To be honest, resurrecting you here would go a long way toward solving the problem. This world doesn’t have a Slayer, so it wouldn’t be quite so disastrous,” I said.

“No. Not a chance. I would just be vulnerable again the next time I died. As a ghost, there’s nothing much that can be done to me,” she said, vetoing my suggestion.

“We’ll have to shield you, then, to be on the safe side,” Dawn said. She had a thoughtful look on her face, which told me she was already considering how to put the spell together.

“It might not be a bad idea to see if there’s a way to bind Buffy to this world temporarily,” I said to Dawn. “Perhaps with a time limit, so that she can eventually find her way back into a proper afterlife.”

Buffy was about to say something else, but the phone rang. It was Ms. Blake calling to say where I was to meet her.


	7. Chapter 7

_Journal of Rupert Giles, Former Watcher_

_January 21, 1999_

_I’ve come to the conclusion that the Watcher’s Council can go to hell. They act as if these girls are interchangeable. Don’t like the current Slayer? Send her off to be killed, and you’ll get a new one, just like that. And with any luck, the new one will be a properly trained little Slayer, just like Kendra. Poor little Council-raised Kendra, who barely lasted a year and who never even kissed a boy before she died._

_Their idiot plan didn’t work, of course. Buffy survived. She bloody well survived to tell Travers off, and it was no thanks to me. I told her I was here for her, yet what did I do? I listened to a bunch of tweed-infested pillocks who wouldn’t know what to do if a vampire walked up to them and said, “Stake me. I’m yours!”_

_Heh. Made a joke. Buffy would laugh if she heard it. Then she’d ask how much I’d had to drink before I made it. For the record, for whatever twisted mind sits down to read this now-private journal, it took half a bottle of Glenlivet. And it’s not enough, because I can still read my own handwriting. And I can still hear my Slayer calling me a bastard and accusing me of poisoning her. But she’s not mine anymore, is she?_

_Sodding Council. Think they can fire me and expect me to run off like a good little ex-Watcher. They aren’t paying me anymore, so why the hell would I listen to their orders? The day I leave Buffy will be the day I die._

*****

September 25, 2004

In the end, I didn’t have to threaten to tie Dawn down to convince her to invite her friends over for a birthday bash, though it was a near thing. I hated ruining her plans for the evening, but I didn’t think the people holding Forrester’s family would hesitate to snatch Dawn if they thought they had a chance to get the translation directly from the source. Having survived one abduction already, she succumbed to the logic of my position in the matter and agreed to have her friends over instead.

“We’ll do pizza and pop on the roof,” she said, trying to sound as if it were a far better plan than the one she’d had. Perhaps I was a bit of a traitor, but I couldn’t help but feel grateful that she wouldn’t be going into any of Jean-Claude’s properties this evening. The future would be a different story, but for one last night, Dawn would remain out of them. The thought of Jean-Claude reminded me of something.

“Jason brought something by for you,” I stammered, hating myself for telling her. On the other hand, she would hate me more if I didn’t. “It’s a birthday gift. From Jean-Claude.”

She squealed, and Buffy winced for my ears out of sympathy. “Where is it?”

“Down in the shop. With everything that’s gone on today, I forgot about it until just now. Dawn, if we’re done early enough, perhaps you’ll still be able to go out,” I said as I cupped her cheek. She really was dear to me. My behavior today, appalling though it was, had been an eye-opener for me. It’s one thing to know you love someone. It’s entirely a different thing to realize you would dismantle the world one piece at a time if it was required to protect that person from harm.

She leaned into my caress, her eyes closed like a cat receiving attention. After a moment, she opened her eyes again and said, “If you get killed, I’m _so_ having Buffy kick your ass in the afterlife.” She gave me a rather fierce hug and her sister a rather fierce glare before she ran to the interior stairwell to get down to the shop.

I cleared my throat and said, “Well.”

Buffy replied, “Yeah.”

I was happy that it was still light out as we made our way to the car. I didn’t know if Jean-Claude was actually hovering outside at night, but the wards had activated a few times in the last week and a half — more than they had in the last year — telling me a vampire was near. Since our neighborhood had never been part of a hunting zone before and since Jean-Claude was the only vampire I knew to speak to in this world, I assumed it was he.

I’d been avoiding him assiduously, but it was clear I wouldn’t be able to do so indefinitely. I’d learned all too well in Sunnydale that vampires tended to get obsessed far more easily than humans. I’d seen nothing in this world to indicate the vampires here were any different in that respect. Jean-Claude found me to be intriguing, and the more I avoided him, the worse his curiosity became. The most sensible thing to do would be to meet with him and be done with it, but he made me nervous. That nervousness had nothing to do with the expectation of torture, pain and death whilst in his company. Rather, it had everything to do with my reaction to him that night I awoke in his lair. I clamped down on that line of thought just as I reached the car.

I put my bag in the trunk. My weapons consisted primarily of supplies for whatever magic I might be called upon to do. I didn’t bother with anything else. Dawn and I had guns, and we practiced using them, but I would never be as comfortable using one as I was using a sword or a crossbow. Dawn, on the other hand, was quite proficient with her handgun. She was also very good with a rifle, and she would soon be earning a marksman designation from the local gun club.

It wasn’t until I got into the driver’s seat that I realized Buffy was trying to maintain a distance between us. “Why are you back there?”

“Every time I get too close to you, I can feel myself getting solid,” she said as she scrunched back far enough that her back end had to have been popping out through the side panel. “Since you’re going to want someone who can get through the keyholes, I figured a lack of solidity would be a good thing, right?” She must have lost the last of it during our conversation in kitchen.

“A lack of visibility would also be a help,” I said, pulling out of our alley.

“Already taken care of, Watcher-mine. I practiced a little while you were on the phone, and I can go completely invisible, just like a proper ghost.” I could hear the amusement in her tone of voice just before it occurred to me that she had no voice to speak of.

“Good, good,” I responded absently as I thought about Ghost Buffy. I’d have to be careful about responding to her when she was invisible, else witnesses would think I was crazy.

“Hey, Giles?”

“Yes?”

“You and Dawn —” She sounded reluctant to finish the question she started.

“We’re family. Is that what you were about to ask?” I glanced in the rearview mirror, but I didn’t see her.

“She calls you Dad.” I decided then that I didn’t like talking to Buffy when I couldn’t see her. Her tone of — thought — was too ambiguous. It was far easier to read her face. And when I could read her face, I could figure out what it was that she was looking for. Otherwise, I was left with trying to pick my way through incomplete sentences and half-formed thoughts.

“Yes. She does,” I said. When she didn’t respond, I continued, “At first, it was a way to ensure we weren’t separated by the authorities.” I stopped, uncertain of how much information she truly wanted.

After a long pause, she asked, “And now?”

“And now, we’re family.” I sighed and considered pulling over to have this talk with her, but Ms. Blake expected us by seven o’clock. With traffic, we’d barely make it on time.

“You love her,” she said, and I had no idea if the knowledge made her happy or sad or something in between.

“We love each other, Buffy. We’re family. It doesn’t matter that I wasn’t there at her creation — she’s my daughter in every way that counts.” I hoped this wouldn’t be a problem for her. At times, my interactions with Buffy were very similar to those between a father and daughter, but the Watcher-Slayer dynamic always won out in the end. If it hadn’t, I never would have administered the Cruciamentum. Instead, I would have taken her to that silly ice show on her eighteenth birthday, in an effort to make up for Hank Summers’ failure.

Dawn, on the other hand, came to me relatively free of such entanglements and pitfalls. Yes, she was my Slayer’s sister, but I’d had little to do with her until Glory came to town. When I learned of her true nature, I occasionally regarded her more as an object to be kept safe than as a teenage girl. It wasn’t until our arrival here that I saw her as a separate and complete individual. And after Dawn started calling me Dad, I discovered just how much I had longed for a real family over the last few years. Dawn answered my need in complex and unexpected ways, and in return, I answered her need for a stable, loving father. We fit like two pieces in a jigsaw puzzle.

“I wish — I wish I’d been able to get that kind of fatherly devotion,” she said. This time, I could hear the sadness in her response. “Not from you, really, but from Hank.”

“I’m sorry —” And I truly was. Had it been possible, I would have been everything she needed. As it was, I felt I’d only barely been able to be the Watcher she needed.

“Not your fault. None of it, by the way. You did what you had to do, and you did everything you could to keep me alive and safe. You were the best Watcher a Slayer could ask for,” she said. Her tone sharpened a bit, and she added, “You didn’t have to take care of Dawn like that.”

“Of course I did!” My voice took on its own harshness. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“No. You could have turned her over to the authorities, and gone off on your own, no cares, no worries.” She paused before adding, “It’s what Hank would have done.”

“I’m not Hank,” I said, my voice softening as I realized what she was doing. It hurt, listening to her break the last emotional ties she had to her father, but I thought it was the right thing for her to do. I added, “I could no more abandon Dawn than I could abandon you.”

“Did you ever try to get back? To Sunnydale, I mean.” Her tone was curious, which surprised me. Given the way the conversation had been going, I would have expected accusation.

“At first, we were too busy scrambling to find our feet and to forge identities for ourselves,” I said, thinking back to those early days. “Later, after we moved here, I started looking into it, but there wasn’t a great deal of information on inter-dimensional travel. When we dreamt of your death, I stopped my research completely. There was no point in returning, and our life here was growing more complete with each passing day. Neither of us had any desire to give it up.”

“Makes sense. It’s just as well you didn’t go back.” Considering what she’d told us, I could understand her feelings in the matter. Still, I couldn’t help but think that if I’d been there, I could have done something to stop Willow, or to rein her in before it got so bad.

I took another glance in the rearview mirror, hoping she’d be visible again, but she wasn’t. Part of her story had bothered me since hearing it. I said hesitantly, “About Sunnydale, I’ve been wondering — what made Ethan help you?”

I thought I heard a smile when she answered, “Pure self-interest. He broke us free of Willow so he could find out where you were. When we couldn’t answer, he questioned her. I told him it was no use — she didn’t know anything either — but he didn’t give up on interrogating her.” Another long pause, then a hint of guilt when she added, “And I didn’t stop him. When it came time to deal with the Hellmouth, he told me that an apocalypse was bad for business. He had too much to do to allow Willow to play those games.”

“I wish I’d been there,” I said softly.

“I’m glad you weren’t,” she said firmly and without hesitation. “Really, Giles, you have no idea how glad I am that you and Dawn came to this place. She’s grown up into a happy woman, and that’s because you were there for her.”

“She would have done that if you’d been the one to care for her,” I said. I was starting to check street names now. We were supposed to meet Ms. Blake at a small neighborhood park on Weldon.

“Maybe. Maybe not,” she said. “But Dawn lucked out when you became her father. And yeah, I’m a little jealous.”

I found the street and turned left, as per Ms. Blake’s instructions. I wasn’t sure how to respond to Buffy’s admission. Had I still been her Watcher, I would have stammered a bit, then no doubt patted her on the back and suggested we start training. Though we loved one another, our connection was overshadowed and, at times, overwhelmed by our duty to one another and to the world. Joyce’s early accusations to the contrary, I’d never found it particularly easy to send Buffy out night after night to fight an unending, unwinnable war. Personal declarations such as that she had just made tended to upset whatever peace I’d managed to achieve between my sense of duty and my heart.

I found the park and pulled into the lot, driving slowly until I saw Ms. Blake’s Jeep. I stopped short and said, “When we first met, I loved the ideal you represented. You were the shining beacon against the encroaching darkness. It did not take long for me to come to love you as a person. Even if you hadn’t been the Slayer, I would have been drawn to you. And I think I would have hated Hank Summers even more than I did for failing to be a presence in your life. It’s too late for me to be your father, Buffy, and I’m sorry for that. But even were you my daughter, I could be no prouder of you than I am at this moment.”

There was a long silence, and I started to wonder if she was even in the car any longer. Finally, I heard, “You’re the only person I know who can turn a simple ‘I love you, too,’ into a soliloquy. You do realize that, right?”


	8. Chapter 8

_Journal of Rupert Giles_

_August 23, 2002_

_I’ve been reluctant to take this step, but given the dangers of this world, I think it’s time for us to learn how to use firearms. I plan to take Dawn out shopping with me so we can each get a handgun. She won’t be able to own it until she’s eighteen, but she’ll have the use of it when she’s home or at a firing range. _

_I’m not certain how I feel about this. Guns are no more fatal than a well-handled sword or a well-aimed crossbow, yet they seem to be in a different class entirely. Perhaps it’s because they can be hidden so much more easily. Or perhaps it’s because they can be used effectively from such a greater distance._

*****

September 25, 2004

Forrester pulled up shortly after Buffy and I got out of the car. Ms. Blake was in the process of berating me for not bringing along anything more dangerous than sage, and I was getting rather fed up with her lecture. Granted, it had been quite some time since I’d seen action that even remotely resembled what we were about to do, but from her point of view, I’d never done anything like this at all. She really shouldn’t have been such a snot about it.

“Tell me, Ms. Blake, exactly how does one concentrate on a casting whilst aiming a gun?” I put a look of intense interest and curiosity on my face and waited for her to stop turning interesting shades of red. She probably should see a doctor about that. Sudden rises in blood pressure were an unhealthy sign. I was sure of it.

Forrester intervened before she physically attacked me, saying, “He has a point, especially if he’s going to be doing anything like what he did earlier.” She started to speak, but he overrode her, turning to me to say, “And she has a point. You need something to protect yourself. Can you shoot?”

“Yes, but I don’t like guns,” I said as I tried very hard not to sound like a sullen child. She really did have a point, even if I didn’t want to hear it. I should have brought my own gun along.

“What are you used to?” Forrester turned back to his car, going to the trunk.

“A Glock Nine Millimeter,” I said, curious as to what he was about. I got my answer when he brought a gun over for my inspection. It looked as if it had never been fired. I checked to see if it were loaded, and if so, was there a round already chambered. The gun was innocent of ammunition, and Forrester, apparently pleased by my inspection, handed over five magazines. I looked at him as if he were insane, but he’d already turned away.

Ms. Blake caught my look and grudgingly said, “Better to have too much than too little.”

“If I have to fire a gun that many times, I’m only delaying the inevitable,” I said dryly. I was starting to wish I’d brought a sword or my crossbow with me. I was far more comfortable with either of them than I was with a firearm. On the other hand, neither would be terribly effective if I had to defend myself against gun-wielding thugs. One of Sunnydale’s rare good points was its lack of guns. Demons preferred to use the weapons they were hatched or born with. I pocketed the gun and cartridges in my jacket and hoped I wouldn’t be pulled over by the police whilst I had them. My carry permit was at home in my desk, and I most certainly did not have permission to walk around with a concealed weapon.

“Maybe — but you never know. That last shot might be the charm,” she said.

Forrester said, “Rupert,” and tossed me a vest. It was lightweight body armor, and I was grateful for his thoughtfulness for all of five seconds before I recognized the pragmatism behind the gift. “Put it on under your shirt. There’s no need to make the cops curious.”

I shot a quizzical glance at Ms. Blake, looking for even just a hint of guidance. She ignored me, so I turned back to him and said, “Thank you, Mr. Forrester.”

“Call me Edward. Here,” he said, approaching me again, this time with a piece of paper. It was a license to carry a concealed weapon. It had my name, address, date of birth and driver’s license number on it. It had the same date as my actual carry permit and looked as if it had been carried around in a wallet for some time. I was beginning to think Angelus was finally going to get some competition. Forrester was frightening me more and more with these little displays of power. I had no idea how well our history withstood his inspection, and there was no way for me to ask. The only bright side to all this was that he didn’t seem to be the type who would go running to the authorities to tattle.

“I’m more comfortable calling you ‘Mr. Forrester’,” I said as I put the permit into my own wallet. I glanced around. Since there was no one nearby, I could undress without much of an audience. I opened the back door of Ms. Blake’s Jeep, since it gave me at least some illusion of privacy.

“I prefer Edward. Or Ted if it’s in front of Donna and the kids.” Persistent. Lovely.

“And I prefer not to be on a first-name basis with someone I’ve just met,” I said as calmly as I could manage. I removed my jacket and draped it over the open door before unbuttoning my shirt.

“Tell me about it. Geez, you and mom weren’t even on a first-name basis until after you had sex. And even then, it was months before you’d call her Joyce.”

“Buffy!” I pulled off my shirt to put the vest on. My movements weren’t quite as graceful as they might have been, because I was trying my best not to think of ways to kill a ghost.

“What? It’s not like they can hear me.” We were still working out the rules related to Buffy’s ability to communicate. If she was solid, she could talk to anyone. Dawn and I could converse with her when she lacked a physical presence, but beyond that, we didn’t know.

In any event, she should have kept silent until we knew. My point was proved when Ms. Blake stared at me and said, “You weren’t on a first-name basis with her mother until _after_ you had sex?”

I was turning bright red even as Buffy stumbled over her words in an attempt to back peddle. Forrester looked up, frowning, and said, “Did I just miss something?”

I put my shirt on over the vest and muttered, “Only the shredding of what little dignity I had remaining.”

As it turned out, Forrester was unable to hear Buffy unless she had mass. It inconvenienced us not at all, because he hadn’t taken her presence into account when he planned the raids. He and Ms. Blake had scouted both locations whilst I slept, so they knew approximately what they were up against. They had decided that she would lead the force to rescue the children and that I would accompany Forrester to get his wife. The biggest problem they had was that they didn’t know where, precisely, the hostages were being held in each location.

“Drive us to the children first,” I said. “Buffy can go in and find them, so you know where to go. She can tell you where the guards are, as well.”

“Just call me Lassie,” she grumbled. I think I would have kicked her had she been solid enough for my foot to connect. Ms. Blake didn’t bother hiding her smirk.

“Not to be pessimistic, but are you certain three people will be enough?” I’d been on some foolhardy missions before — going after Angelus alone sprang immediately to mind — but given what I knew of the situation and the people, this seemed a bit insane.

Ms. Blake answered, “We have others meeting us at each location. We need to get going. Does Lassie know her way around St. Louis?”

I could hear the glare in her tone when Buffy answered, “No. I _don’t_ know my way around St. Louis.” The two of them started to argue, and I stood there for all of a minute before I decided I was being punished, either by the Powers or by Ms. Blake’s god. I wanted very much to ask what I’d done to deserve this, but I was afraid of any answer I might receive, so I said nothing.

Forrester looked a bit uncomfortable, and who could blame him? From his point of view, Ms. Blake was bickering with thin air. From my point of view, it was enough to give me a headache. I just hoped Buffy wouldn’t spill family secrets out of irritation.

Disgusted, I walked back to my car and said, “Buffy, unless you wish to ride with Ms. Blake, I suggest you get into my car. Now.” When I sat in the driver’s seat, I could hear her muttering, and it seemed to be coming from behind me.

We left the park and headed south. I followed Forrester and Ms. Blake to the first destination, an uglier section of town, and pulled in behind her Jeep. Though I knew I was courting trouble, I told Buffy to report to Ms. Blake once she had the information that was needed. I only hoped the effort wouldn’t end with Ms. Blake attempting a spur-of-the-moment exorcism.

It wasn’t long before Buffy returned to say, “I told her where the kids and guards are.”

“Are the children alright?” I hated it when children were involved.

“Yeah. They looked tired and frightened, but they’re together, at least. That’s something. I think the little girl could tell I was there, but I’m not sure. I didn’t want her to start talking, so I left.”

“Interesting. Was Ms. Blake going to tell Mr. Forrester?” I hadn’t seen her leave her car yet. Nor had I seen the others of whom she’d mentioned. She moved slightly, and it looked as if she might be speaking on her cell phone. It explained the apparent lack of rescue activity.

“Yep. She said for you to follow him when he pulls away,” she said. In another moment, he did, and we were away to retrieve his wife.

The drive wasn’t bad — about twenty minutes by way of surface streets — and we ended in a rather posh neighborhood. I hadn’t been in the area before, and I regretted the dying light. I would have liked to see more detail, especially of the front gardens. The houses were on generous plots of land, and many but not all of the properties were behind high walls. That was something, at least. Most of the residents wouldn’t know we were out here. I just hoped we wouldn’t be spotted by a private security patrol. It seemed to be the kind of neighborhood which would have one.

Before I could pull in to park, Forrester waved me on. No sense in having two strange cars parked near one another. A bit up the way, I found a convenient curve to park in. The properties on either side of the road were walled, and my car would be hidden from oncoming traffic. I didn’t doubt that Forrester was well aware of the spot. I got out and closed the car door with a gentle click. I did the same for the trunk, once I pulled out my supplies. I also took a moment to load the weapon I’d been given to use.

Forrester met me about halfway between our vehicles and said, “Good place to park.”

“I thought so. Thank you for leaving it for me.” I hadn’t seen house numbers as I drove by, but the general feel I was getting from the one in front of us led me to ask, “Is this the one?”

“Yes.”

“Buffy? Do be a dear and go find Mrs. Forrester,” I said. She was still owed a bit of payback for the comment about her mother. She didn’t say anything, but I imagined her storming off. She was back within five minutes.

“Giles —” With one word, she managed to convey a sense of deep unease and unhappiness. I dreaded asking, but I had no choice.

“What is it?” Forrester tensed for a moment at my tone. Blast. I should have better schooled my response.

“She’s in bad shape. _Really_ bad shape. She’s still alive, but I’m not sure for how long or if she even wants to be,” she said. “She — she looks like she’s been beaten up a few times. I think she might have been —”

Raped. She was choking on the word, and who could blame her? In her experience, the black hats simply killed people. They didn’t take hostages, and they didn’t play with them first unless they were Angelus. It was never easy to be faced with the fact that members of one’s own species were capable of as much evil as a demon.

“Describe where she is in the house and tell me about the guards,” I said, relieving her of the necessity to discuss the woman’s condition further.

Forrester was still waiting for the news, and I turned to him. He already knew it was bad, so I didn’t bother trying to school my expression. I told him where to find her and the others within, then I added, “She’s been beaten badly, and most likely raped. Buffy said she needs to be in hospital as soon as possible.”

“Can you get the wards down?” He sounded as though I’d just told him his car needed an alignment. I was having a hard time reconciling this man with the one who’d been so eloquent — and frighteningly passionate — earlier in the day. I was reminded of the dead look in his eyes, and I wondered for the first time if that might not be worse than Angelus’ passion.

I didn’t respond to him; anything I said would have involved fists, and I’d already survived hitting him once. I doubted there would be a second chance. I simply found a place on the ground that would remain reasonably well hidden from passers by and called to Buffy to join me. I could hear Forrester murmuring behind me, and I surmised he was talking on his phone to whomever else was coming along on this excursion. I was more pleased than not that he hadn’t chosen to introduce me. The more I came to know him, the less I wanted to.

Putting aside my own discomfort over the situation, I began to focus on the ritual itself. When I was in my right mind and not in a homicidal rage, I had a policy of forcing my magic to jump through as many mystical hoops as I could dream up. In theory, it meant I wouldn’t start using magic so easily that I would call it up any time I was feeling lazy. In practice, I found myself periodically adding to the rituals or changing them around when I grew too used to them. And though my rituals had a Wiccan foundation, I borrowed freely from other religions and practices.

Tonight’s activities would be a combination of Wiccan and Illuryan rites. The Illuryae were balancing demons back home, and they had made an art form of developing protective spells. Certain of their spells had been a necessity when I was still with Ethan, because he didn’t believe in small risks. Without those spells, I would have surely been maimed or killed long before I came to my senses and ended my little rebellion. I would need to cast one of the Illuryan protections after the wards came down.

Once I removed everything from my bag, I took the sea salt to create a protective circle and began. I found that the wards weren’t particularly difficult to break through. Whoever had built them counted on a high level of magic rather than complexity to keep them up and running. The wards I’d created for my home and business had layer upon layer of interlocking castings. If one layer failed, the others still held true. They could probably be unraveled, but if I were within them and alive, I’d be able to rebuild them even as they were being dismantled. Since there was no effort to rebuild the wards, I assumed the person who created them was elsewhere.

When the last of them fell, I nodded to Forrester before pulling a second bowl toward me. Forrester pressed a button on his cell phone, then jumped onto and over the wall. “Buffy, describe to me again where she is,” I said quietly. I was preparing to set up an Illuryan ward, this one around her room to prevent anyone from attacking or killing her.

Buffy described the interior of the house for me, and I followed along in my mind’s eye. I reached out with my magic to ascertain that it was the right room, then I picked up a knife so I could add my blood to the mixture in the bowl. The only one who would be able to get near her would be someone I knew, and Forrester was the only one who fit that description at the moment.

A hand squeezed my shoulder lightly, and I looked up to see Buffy staring toward the drive. Two men ran into the property through the gate, and I thought they were shooting. If they were, they were using silencers, a fact which I was sure the neighbors would appreciate if they knew. I covered my casting bowl to put out the last of the burning embers, broke my circle and then moved slowly toward the bushes growing along the wall. It was full dark by this time, but there were no exterior lights coming on. When I reached the relative safety of the wall, I pulled out the gun and waited.


	9. Chapter 9

_Journal of Rupert Giles_

_July 13, 2001_

_Dawn started calling me “Dad” about a month ago, and at first, I thought nothing of it. We had agreed to the necessity of outwardly becoming father and daughter, and the change in addressing me was necessary. _

_However, in the last week or so, I’ve heard a change in the way she says “Dad” — it sounds as if she’s been calling me that since she learned to talk. And I? Well, it’s odd. When I hear her say it now, I feel a certain primal satisfaction in knowing that she’s claimed me as family. I’m not quite at the stage of chest-thumping, but I’m already glaring at any male who looks at Dawn for too long or in the wrong way. And all too many of them do. She’s growing to be a beautiful young woman, and her long, brown hair and clear blue eyes are enough to draw anyone’s attention. _

_I never knew being a parent was like this. I remember Tom Hawkins telling me how he fell in love with his son the first time he saw him in hospital, but until this moment, I had no idea what he meant. Dawn has become infinitely precious to me, and heaven help me, but I think I would kill anyone who attempted to harm her._

*****

September 25, 2004

In the end, it took less than an hour to get Mrs. Forrester out of the house and on her way to hospital. Buffy’s solidity from the bit of magic I’d performed earlier hadn’t lasted long. When she realized she could control her visibility again, she chose to go with the woman, telling me that the first moments after death could be a bit confusing. If she did die, there was no sense in making it any worse than it needed to be. Just before the door to the ambulance closed, I heard one of the paramedics tell Mrs. Forrester that there was no woman in there with them and please calm down.

I decided to practice a bit of selective repression and not think about how it was that Forrester had gotten an ambulance here without involving emergency services or the police. There was some information that didn’t need to be shared, and I felt I might be all the healthier for not knowing. I just hoped he didn’t live in the St. Louis area.

Forrester came up to me after the ambulance left, but I wasn’t surprised he was there instead of following his wife. I had stopped trying to anticipate how he was going to react to a given situation, and I found myself happier for it. He handed me a bag and said, “They got impatient with Frau Schlecter and took the manuscript.”

“Is she dead?” I opened the bag and peered into it. There were still no street lights functioning, and the moon, though close to full, wasn’t yet high enough over the trees for help from that quarter. I put my hand in the bag, instead.

“Yes. They came to me when they realized they weren’t going to be able to get a translation done in time on their own,” he said. I could feel his eyes on me and realized why the moment my hand touched what seemed to be a bundle of cash. It had been on the book, and there were at least two other similar bundles.

I pulled it out and said, “What’s this?”

“Finder’s fee.” He held his hand up when I started to object and said, “I don’t like to owe anyone. The money’s in small bills. Do with it what you want. Just get rid of that book.”

Exasperating man.

“What did you mean when you said they couldn’t get a translation done in time?” Thankfully, there was no warding on the manuscript, so I’d be able to burn it without difficulty. Physical difficulty, that is. Emotionally, I doubted I would handle it well. Burning a book always seemed so Facist, even when it was necessary.

“They had a problem only a resurrection could solve. I don’t think you want to know anything more than that,” he said. He turned when he heard another vehicle pull up in front of his own car.

The back passenger door opened, and a young girl came tumbling out. She ran straight to Forrester and into his arms. If I understood nothing else about him, I understood this. He held her in much the same way I held Dawn when she was upset, and like Dawn, the girl drew strength from him. An older boy approached more slowly, but he seemed no less glad to see Forrester than his sister was.

I stepped away to give them privacy for their reunion, then approached Ms. Blake to ask, “Am I needed for anything else?”

“Is Lassie around?”

“No, she went with Mrs. Forrester,” I said, not really paying attention. If I had been, I would have noticed the gun she pulled on me a bit sooner than I did.

“Hand over the Glock.” I couldn’t really see her eyes, but I imagined they were as flat as I’d ever seen them.

I reached carefully into my pocket and took hold of the gun by the barrel. As I handed it to her, I asked, “Is this really necessary?”

She tucked the gun into her jacket and said, “Shut up and get in the Jeep. You’re driving.” She pointed her gun in the appropriate direction, and I did as I was told, grumbling all the way. My mood wasn’t helped by the fact that I very nearly emasculated myself on the steering wheel, because I hadn’t moved the seat back before getting in.

When we were both settled, I said, “Where are we going?”

“Just drive, Giles. You and I are going to talk,” she said with her gun still pointed at me. I wondered if she realized how pointless that gesture was. I doubted it. She seemed to react first and think later. I had no doubt it would be her downfall.

I pulled away from the house and set a sedate pace through the neighborhood before saying, “Really, Ms. Blake, if you’d wanted a date, all you had to do was ask. Of course, I would have turned you down, so perhaps this was inevitable after all.”

“What the hell is Lassie?” Ah. She’d been faced with something that turned her reality sideways a bit. No wonder she seemed a bit out of sorts.

“Her name is Buffy, and she’s a ghost,” I answered, enjoying the chance to state the obvious. I perhaps should have taken her more seriously, but I was still a bit giddy from having survived the evening without getting a scratch or a concussion or even a threatening look. Until now, that is.

“Who. Is. She. And don’t tell me she’s Dawn’s sister. I got that,” she said. She was reaching the end of her rope.

“Then I don’t know what more to tell you,” I said, making sure my voice remained calm and steady.

“Why does she call you Giles?”

“Because she’s always called me Giles,” I said. It was a perfectly good and true answer, but she still released the safety on her gun. I sighed and said, “Ms. Blake, my relationship with Dawn and Buffy is, frankly, none of your concern.”

“Is Dawn your daughter?”

“What? Of course she is,” I said. Honestly, I couldn’t understand what she was driving at.

“Just how close are the two of you?” Her tone of voice left no doubt as to her meaning. The question was rude, nasty and completely uncalled for. I pushed down hard on the brake peddle. We came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the road, and my magic rose quickly. I allowed a whisper of power to reach around her gun and turned that one into a toad. Though I enjoyed the screech she made as she half threw, half dropped the thing, it wasn’t one of my better decisions. I needed to get myself under control again. I just hoped she wouldn’t say something even worse than she already had to set me off again.

I looked at her as she reached for another weapon and said, “Don’t. Unless you want to add snakes to the mix and have to replace every last weapon you own, just don’t. Your question was completely out of bounds. What on Earth could make you ask such a thing?”

“Edward said your background check didn’t quite add up. And the way you talk to her —” She stopped speaking, so I was again left to respond to a nonsensical conversation.

“Yes? What about the way I talk to her?” I thought back to the conversations that we’d had in her presence, but I couldn’t recall anything that was said on either side that might possibly have led to Ms. Blake coming to such an insane conclusion. I ignored the comment about our background — there was nothing I could do about it at the moment. In any event, her insinuation about my relationship with Dawn raised my hackles, and I wanted that dealt with immediately.

“You told her you adore her,” she said, sounding as if she was biting each word off precisely and carefully.

“Of course I did. I would have to be a right bastard _not_ to tell my daughter how much —” It came together, then. Her attitude toward me, the expression on her face when Dawn and I spoke or when I spoke of Dawn to her — it all made horrid sense.

“I’m sorry for you, Ms. Blake, that your own father is such a complete prat that he never made you certain of his love. I truly am. But I will be even sorrier for you if you don’t find a way to put his idiocy behind you,” I said as gently as possible. I didn’t want her to think I was mocking her.

“You don’t know anything,” she said, her face turned away from me.

I sighed, then, wondering if it was to be my lot in life to pick up stray and abandoned children. I didn’t dare bring her in for a hug — if I did, I would pay for that kindness, either immediately or down the road. Ms. Blake was not the type of woman who received comfort easily. On the other hand, if she and Buffy could find a way to get along, they would find they have much in common. After a few minutes of tense and unhappy silence, I asked, “Was there anything else?”

She turned back to me finally and asked, “What are you?”

“A man, Ms. Blake. I’m just a man who has a daughter and who owns a shop,” I answered, suddenly sick of it all. I wanted to get home and see Dawn. I wanted to go to bed.

“I’ve never heard of anyone who can do what you can do,” she said. “The magic you call up — you don’t need the rituals, but you do them anyway. And the rest of the time, you’re so controlled, I can’t even tell you have that much power in you.” Her tone was still aggressive, but it was leaning toward neutral. She seemed to be hearing what she was saying.

I also heard the words and said tiredly, “Perhaps, then, you should consider that if you have future dealings with me. I’m driving back to get my car, then I’m going home.” After a short pause, I added, “I hope you’ll allow Nathaniel to continue working for me. He’s good with the customers.”

Her pause was even longer, but she finally said, “Maybe.”

*****

“_Mon ami_.”

Perfect. What a perfect ending to a perfectly horrible day. I stopped at the foot of the stairs leading up to the apartment, and I said, “I’m not your friend.”

“But you could be,” he said as he emerged from the shadows. He was wearing a skin-tight vinyl suit this evening, and it looked like it might be electric blue. The shirt, no doubt silk, was white. He wore his long hair loose and in an artful tumble around his shoulders. His bill for hair care products must be astronomical.

I briefly thought of the advantages of adding UV lights back here for the night hours just to keep my alley clear of unwanted visitors, but it was likely I’d just have to take them down again. It wouldn’t do to trample on the rights of the undead, after all.

“No, _Monsieur_, I could not be,” I answered. To hell with him. I was tired from too much magic, anxiety and anger, and all I wanted out of life at the moment was a cup of tea. I put one foot on the first step, but I didn’t get very far.

He covered my right hand on the rail with his own and said softly, “If you chose it, you could be my friend.”

Bloody vampire. The way he made it sound, I would break his heart, then grind it into a million pieces if I decided I didn’t want to play.

“If I chose it, I could pursue a career as a rock musician, but that’s not likely to happen either.” I glared at his hand, and when he didn’t remove it, I tried to tug mine out from underneath. He held onto it without any effort at all. My hand might as well have been encased in cement for all the mobility he allowed it.

“I’ve heard you sing and play your guitar, Rupert. You are very fond of Clapton, are you not? Should you wish to be a rock musician, I will happily arrange to get you started in one of my clubs,” he answered with a hint of enjoyment at my obvious discomfort.

“I don’t wish — Dammit! Give me back my hand,” I said as I tugged even harder.

“Someone went to a great deal of trouble to break every bone in it, _mon cher_. I would guess it was the same someone who claimed you.” I risked a glance at him and found him looking at the remnants of Angelus’ attempts to break me. The look on his face was indescribable, and I very much wanted to describe it. If I could, then perhaps I would be able to identify the emotion behind it. I suspected it might be very important.

“Yes. Someone did go to a great deal of trouble,” I said at last, keeping my voice inflectionless, as I was unwilling to give him any more information than I had to. I thought about objecting to the endearment, but to me, it was marginally better than him calling me his friend. An endearment could be brushed off as so much meaningless chatter. A claim of friendship couldn’t.

“It is curious that I cannot feel him through his claim on you,” he said, even as he continued to examine my hand. “I cannot even tell if he yet remains or if he has found true death.”

“Yes. Curious indeed. If you’ll excuse me.” I took another step and tugged on my hand again. “Please, _Monsieur_, release me,” I said, not unaware of the irony of sounding like a nervous virgin in a bodice-ripper. That he made me sound like one made me long for the days when any pointed wooden object would relieve me of the burden of a vampire’s company.

He didn’t release me, of course. He just moved around the end of the railing and stood on the bottom-most step. Right next to me. He was starting to rub my emotions into a state even more raw than they’d been earlier. I didn’t need this particular trauma on top of everything else.

Before I could say anything further, though, he said, “An open, untended claim such as yours is to a vampire much like catnip is to a cat. One wonders first why the human was claimed and second why the claim was abandoned.”

Reluctantly, I asked, “What are you saying?”

He ran a gentle finger down the back of my right hand, tracing one of the surgical scars. “I am saying you are at risk, Rupert.” He looked into my eyes with a disconcerting intensity, his pupils disappearing in the dim glow of the sodium lamps. I felt a slight tug on my mind, but nothing more. I wondered if my resistance had more to do with my emotional state than with any claim Angelus may have made. It was equally possible that my magic might have something to do with it. Or perhaps I was simply clutching at straws by imagining that I had any defenses against a vampire.

He continued with, “Not all visitors respect my position as master of the city. Should one of them meet you, it would be no difficult thing for them to take over that claim by force. To take over you.”

At his words, I felt my stomach drop and my heart shift into my throat. “No. You’re lying —” I was going to have to research what he was telling me, and I didn’t relish resurrecting that particular cliche.

“I am not. You may ask Anita. She knows more about vampire politics and behavior than any human I’ve ever known. If you do not believe me, perhaps you will listen to her,” he said with a faint smile playing around his lips. His eyes were back to normal. The bastard knew full well how I felt about his sodding _ma petite_, and here he was, telling me I should ask her for verification. On the other hand, she might be able to tell me why I was able to shrug off Jean-Claude’s attempts to enthrall me. My frustration with him and the situation was increasing rapidly, and I could feel my jaw tighten in response.

I managed to say through clenched teeth, “What are you suggesting I do about the claim?”

“There’s nothing you can do,” he said, lifting my hand slightly. For a moment, I thought he was going to kiss it. In retrospect, I wish he had. It was a far better option than listening to what he said next.

“I, however, could help. For you, I am willing to take over the claim. You would no longer be vulnerable.” It was lovely how he managed to make it sound like a burden he was willing to bear.

“I would be vulnerable to you. And in case it isn’t quite clear, I have no desire to be a human servant,” I said. I could hear the anger in my voice, and I felt magic starting to fill me. I would need to spend most of Sunday in meditation to regain my control. Strong emotions were never a good mix with strong magics.

“I already have one. I may not take another,” he answered. “I can, however, claim a human without risk to his soul.”

“And how, exactly, do you know that?” I had to focus on relaxing myself. If I didn’t, all hell would break loose. Or, given the way my luck had been running in the last two weeks, I’d probably end up calling Buffy to me somehow. With Jean-Claude playing the aggressive suitor at the moment, I greatly preferred she remain with Donna Forrester.

“They were able to touch the cross. Holy water did not affect them,” he answered. His mouth hovered over my knuckles, and I felt the faint puff of his exhalation.

“If they didn’t have faith —” I hated my stammer, as I again reminded myself of a simpering virgin. Perhaps if I kicked him in the groin, I would —

“They had great faith, Rupert,” he said in a low-voiced whisper. It reminded me nothing of faith and everything of the bedroom. He lifted my hand just a touch higher and paused.

His nose flared slightly, and I couldn’t take it any longer. “Oh, for god’s sake, Jean-Claude. Either lick it, kiss it or let it go, but do _something_ with my hand other than sniff at it.”

I startled him into laughing loudly, and he at last released me. “You are a very difficult man to seduce, _mon cher_,” he said in a normal, though amused voice.

The laughter made him seem younger. Human. It added a sparkle of life to his eyes. I told myself, _Don’t go there, Ripper. Don’t even think about it._ It was bad enough that I was already calling him by his first name. I said, “I’ll consider what you’ve told me. Good evening.”

My hand once again mine alone, I headed up to the apartment. Halfway to my goal, I heard him say, “Do not think too long, Rupert. The danger to you is real, and it will soon get worse.”

I turned to ask what he meant, but he’d already left.

Bloody wonderful.

~ fin ~


End file.
